Two of ThirtyOne
by Leaward
Summary: Two of Thirty-One follows two brothers who are members of the Grey Company and their experiences as they assist Aragorn in regaining the crown. Final chapter now added - the Dunedain leave Gondor to head home to Rivendell. Eomer and Glorfindel have cameo
1. Prologue As the Black Gate Opens

'…_And about each hill a ring was made facing all ways, bristling with spear and sword. But in the front towards Mordor where the first bitter assault would come there stood the sons of Elrond on the left with the Dúnedain about them, and on the right the Prince Imrahil with the men of Dol Amroth tall and fair, and picked men of the Tower of Guard._'

ROTK; The Black Gate Opens

* * *

The Dúnedain of the North watched as the Captains stood before the Black Gate, an eerie silence broken only by the occasional stamp of a horse's hoof; even the animals sensed the doom that lay before them. Tarkil glanced around at his brethren as they stood at the front of the forces. The Captains and representatives of the land rode towards the gate, stopping once they reached the malodorous moat that guarded the entrance to Mordor, heralding the filth beyond. Pride filled the Rangersas the banner of the King unfurled, and the trumpets and voices called for Sauron himself to come forward.

He started as thundering drums rolled across the valley and the great gates to Mordor creaked open. Nálo sensed his unease and danced beneath him so he leaned down and whispered a few words in an attempt to calm the nervous steed.

Whispers rippled through the Gondorian foot soldiers behind the mounted Dúnedain as a black-robed figure rode through the gates to meet those who dared challenge the Dark Lord.

"A wraith" Tarkil heard a man behind him whisper in dread. The Ranger knew they watched no wraith, for the eight remaining Nazgûl sat astride their fell beasts as they flapped and dove in graceless circles above the black towers that flanked the gate, fear and despair enveloping all who dared spy them. But he understood the man's confusion for the rider sparked the same fear with his gruesome appearance – even his mount inspired horror as flames came from the nostrils of its death-like mask. Though they could not hear his words, a sense of foreboding filled the thirty Rangers when this hideous servant of Mordor held up a small sword and then a grey cloak. The Dúnedain stifled their gasps of dismay, as the messenger's visage twisted into the mockery of a smile when next he held aloft a child-sized vest that shimmered in the gloom.

The rumour of a hobbit carrying the ring of power swept through the Grey Company shortly after they had joined Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. They overheard the dwarf and the elven prince worrying about a friend named Frodo and his great burden. The Rangers recognized the name at once as belonging to a hobbit. Little by little, they pieced together the story that Frodo journeyed to Mordor hoping to dispatch the ring into the fires of Mount Doom though Halbarad tried to discourage their talk.

Yet here was a cloak like that which his captain and his companions wore, only hobbit-sized, as were the sword and vest. And if they were in the hands of a minion of Sauron -- Tarkil's heart sank at the thought -- that could only mean Sauron had taken them by force, and with them, the ring of power. Out of the corner of his eye he knew the other Rangers had also noticed this and reached the same grim conclusion.

So they stood at the Black Gate, facing Sauron's forces with little hope left, for the Dúnedain stood at the front of the line, the first to face the massing hordes. He glanced beside him and caught his brother Haldon's eye as they exchanged a silent pact to protect each other to the end, both doubting any of their number would leave the battle alive.

A bright light drew Tarkil's eye back to the scene at the gate as Mithrandir reached out and grabbed the articles from the messenger and the black figure suddenly spurred his steed back to his soldiers. Aragorn's forces pressed closer together, closing ranks, as they heard shrill horns sound and saw the dust rise in a great cloud as the forces of Mordor swarmed towards them. The Captains charged back to the forces arrayed on the slag hills, Elladan and Elrohir retaking their place amongst the Rangers. The twins wheeled their mounts and sat impassively watching the oncoming horde. Yet Tarkil thought he saw their jaws clench -- and a glint appear in their eyes at the challenge. _They had the chance at eternal life – immortality – and yet they choose to stand here amongst us mortals. When they die -- where shall they go? To the Halls of Mandos to live amongst the elven spirits or to a man's fate whatever that might be? What choice would I have made had I been given such a decision? _

Orcs beyond count clambered down the sides of the hills of the Morannon, a black wave of death that clenched dread into every man's heart. A cacophony of jeers from the Easterlings and a barrage taunts from the Southrons echoed off the hills as they marched past the curls of steam that emanated from putrid cesspits from behind the shadow of Ered Lithui while Tarkil and the others watched in stoic resignation as the great host of Sauron surrounded them. _May we die swiftly and with honour_.

The Easterlings and Southrons, swarthy men reminding Tarkil of those he had faced on the Pelennor fields, jostled for position in front of their hill as harsh trumpets called for the battle to begin. Fierce foes, Tarkil knew they would give no quarter but fight to the death in their defence of the evil beyond. And finally, horns sounded on both sides and the Sons of Elrond stood shoulder to shoulder beside the Dúnedain, their ranks closed again the enemy, denying them easy passage towards their captains. Tarkil hefted his spear and chucked it at an Easterling that ran towards him, a deadly pike aimed at Nálo, and drew his first blood of the day.


	2. After the Black Gate

Tarkil awoke to blackness as something pulled upon his arm causing a wave of agony; he heard a voice seemingly from a distance mutter in another language that sounded vaguely familiar and felt his arm gently placed back upon the ground. Whoever stood near him wrapped their arms about his chest and attempted to lift, grunting at the effort as the sonorous voice called to another in what the Ranger of the North could only assume to be a call for help.

_Leave me alone, you maggot; I would rather die than be sport of Sauron's forces, _he wanted to cry out but only a grunt of pain made it past his throat.

Another voice joined the first as they apparently discussed him and he felt a different pair of arms wrap around his middle as they attempted once more to lift him. '_Is that Rohirric?' _He wondered as he thought he recognized a favourite curse of his brother's wife. _I stood before the Black Gate, why would the Rohirrim be helping Sauron's forces? Are they being used as their slaves?_

He heard the voice speak once more, this time in a heavily accented common-tongue. "We do not mean to hurt you, but we must move you from this area, soldier, it is not safe even though Sauron has fallen, his cursed forces still inhabit this land."

_Sauron fell? That is not what I remember …_ but then they lifted once more and he fell into a blessed oblivion as his brain shut down when the pain overwhelmed him.

Distant voices murmured once more as he floated back to a state of semi-consciousness. Tarkil realized he lay face down upon a litter being carried over what must have been rough ground from the jarring motions that jolted him, sending waves of pain through him and he heard harsh curses from those who carried him. He soon felt himself being laid upon the ground and water poured over him.

"He's filthy, this one, where did you find him?" _Was that a Gondor accent? _

"Half-submerged in the cesspit down by the Gates. We were doing one last sweep of the area when a movement caught my eye and I spied him." The Rohirrim spoke once more, his resonant voice muted.

Tarkil felt a gentle touch at his shoulder and moaned at the pain that rippled through him; the movement stopped and more water cascaded over his back.

"I need more water, this muck is clinging to him and we must clean him else the infection will take him before his wounds do. At least he is bleeding still and that is helping to wash some of the filth away. Do we know who he is, or even what force he fought with? Did he fight for us or the Dark Lord?" _A Gondor healer perhaps?_

"I think I recognize him," the Rohirrim announced as he leaned over, holding the torch closer, its bright light penetrating the Ranger's closed eyes causing his head to ache. "He does not wear the cloak any longer, but I believe this is a member of the Grey Company that accompanied Elessar from Rohan."

"The rest of his company left with the vanguard protecting the periannath, they will be hours ahead by now. I know there was one who protested and did not wish to leave the land – he said his brother had not been found – he was granted leave to stay and is wandering around here somewhere. Nevertheless, we must move him away from here, but we cannot chance putting him upon your horse, Jorund. He must be carried upon this litter for there is an injury to his back; I would not disturb any further else he may not walk again." The healer continued to pour cool water over him, moving the stream to sluice over his face and head, and a rough cloth wiped away whatever coated his face that made his skin crawl.

The Ranger of the North slowly forced open his eyes to see himself further back from the Black Gates, though night had now fallen but he took heart to see the thick clouds that had blanketed the land had finally dissipated and stars sparkled brilliantly above. Torches moved in haphazard patterns across the bleak land and he realized soldiers scoured the land for the signs of survivors. The flickering flame of another fell upon him, lighting the two men who worked over him. One man wore the garb of a Gondor healer, the other wore the Rohan green and gold as he had suspected he might. _Did we win? Is it over? Or is this some cruel joke of my imagination?_

"He's waking," the Rohan soldier noted, and he squatted at the injured man's side. "What is your name, soldier, and with what company do you serve."

"Tarkil son …" the Ranger paused as he gasped for breath, "of Beleg … of Arnor. I am a Ranger … with Elessar."

"I thought you might be, though I could not tell if it was you or your brother, Haldon." He moved away as the healer started binding the injured man's wounds causing him to lapse once more into unconsciousness.

-

"He's waking again, my friend." Jorund grunted to the man who helped him carry the litter.

The two men pulled to the side and put their burden carefully down. The man who had carried the front of the litter knelt at his side and wiped the sweat from Tarkil's brow softly speaking to him. Tarkil recognized the face that swam in front of him as Haldon when he spoke though it took him a moment for the words to penetrate his dizziness. "You have to fight this, 'Kil. You have been unconscious for quite a few hours now. We have a long way yet to go."

"…Where…?" Tarkil rasped as he shivered, causing ripples of pain to surge through him.

"King Elessar ordered that we must clear away from the Morannon; we journey to the fields of Cormallen – it is still many hours away." Jorund signalled to the healer who hurried over to briefly lay a hand on Tarkil's brow then force him to drink a vile brew.

"That should help with the pain, and hopefully the fever also. Pick him up again, soldier, and keep walking, the sooner we can get him to the healing tents the sooner we can properly treat him. It is a pity we did not find him before the last of the wagons moved off." The healer hurried on to the next of what Tarkil realized was a long line of soldiers carrying kith and kin from the battlegrounds.

The medicine soon did its work and the voices of those around him faded into the background as he fell into a deep slumber.

-

"Tarkil?" A voice called from the distance and a cool hand lay upon his brow. Every muscle in his body ached, his back felt as if a fiery brand lay against his spine. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him and only a croak issued forth.

"Breathe deeply, Tarkil." The voice came closer and he thought he recognized it but could not place a face to it as the memories of the battle flooded his mind and a grey mist swirled about him.

Trolls strode through the cesspits and quagmires that the Easterlings and Southrons had to skirt; he held Nálo firm but he saw from the corner of his eye that his brother's horse panicked and bore Haldon away. _Keep running, Feinnail, take him far from here; guide him to safety that he might live._ A huge Orc stabbed his mighty pike and stuck Gethron's horse, shoving it deep as his friend jumped from his mount when the steed fell.

Tarkil ducked when an Orc swung a blade in a wild arc towards him, and shoved his own blade in a quick thrust when he saw the opening he needed. Orc, and Easterling, Southron then Haradrim faced him, his arm aching already though the foes around him thickened. Tarkil whipped his sword into the throat of an Easterling, dropping him, quickly turning to defend his left side as Orcs attacked. Nálo charged through them, Tarkil hacking and slashing at the Mordor filth, attempting to fend off the numerous blades as his horse suffered from their attempts to take him from beneath the young Ranger till finally a troll swung his mighty cudgel catching Nálo, and the horse squealed in torment as it fell from beneath him. Tarkil leaped from his horse, watching his mount twitch and scream, and with a cry, lifted his blade to end his friend's misery. _I am sorry, boy, but I would not have you suffer further._ He blocked an attack from the left then the right, turning away from the carcass of his horse as Orcs ripped into it.

Tarkil saw Aragorn standing beneath the King's standard, and Gandalf the White shone as a finger of sunlight broke through the clouds illuminating the hill where they stood. He realized an Orc stood poised; a great arrow strung in his bow, aimed directly at his Captain, so the Ranger quickly strung his own bow and taking careful aim, loosed his arrow felling the Orc, the enemy's arrow glancing harmlessly off the slagheap a distance away from Aragorn.

The Dúnedain who lost their horses gathered together and formed their own line against the Black Lord's forces and Tarkil fought to join them. But suddenly he felt a great force hit his back, driving the breath from him as he heard his bones crack; waves of pain flooded him and he felt himself lifted above the fighting. A strange detachment gripped Tarkil as he heard the sound of cloth ripping and watched shreds of his grey cloak flutter into the morass below then the grip on him released and the ground rushed to meet him. His vision clouded over, his last sight the sullen red haze reflecting off the fetid pool where he lay.

-

"Tarkil." A quiet voice called across a great distance.

-

He screamed in pain as talons raked across his back, tearing into his flesh; he heard the sound of wool ripping, and watched his grey cloak flutter into the morass below, then felt a burning lance skewer him as the beast tightened its grip.

"Tarkil. Breathe deeply and come back to us." Tarkil heard the voice in the distance again and finally recognized it as his captain's; he fought against the claws that held him close bound until the voice encouraged him to breath again, and trusting his captain, he took a deep, shaky breath. His breathing grew even once he no longer heard the roars of battle, nor the screech of the wraith. He no longer smelled the stench of death, nor the putrid reek of the cesspit. Images of home sprang into his mind pushing the hideous blackness away; the majestic red and green maple trees canopied the small woods behind his family's farm from his childhood, brilliant in their autumn colours contrasted by the deep greens of the occasional spruce or pine tree that fought for sunlight, the smell of the loam covered with dry leaves that rustled in the breezes filled him and a hint of cherry blossom wafted through his mind as well.

Tarkil opened his eyes to see Aragorn and the peredhil staring down at him, Haldon and Herudil at the end of his bed.

"Welcome back," Aragorn smiled. He and the peredhil spoke quietly to a healer who hovered nearby as Haldon sat down beside him.

"Hurts, Hal!" Tarkil rasped to his brother. He wondered at the dark circles under his brother's eyes, and the worry that filled his face, so unusual to see upon Haldon who generally had a joke to meet any occasion.

"I know, little brother," Haldon tried to smile but failed. "You should get some sleep now, you still have a fever and need to recover. Just lie back and relax."

"Am I dead? Is this where we go? Are Mother and Father here too?" Tarkil slowly asked, his voice still rasping.

"No, 'Kil, you are not dead and neither am I. We are alive and we won!" Haldon took a damp cloth and wiped his brother's face once more as beads of sweat dripped down, matting his hair. "The little hobbit destroyed the ring and Sauron is defeated!"

"But I saw …" Haldon watched confusion flicker across his brother's drawn face. "I saw you die, and Gethron and … everyone … "

Haldon shook his head, "Nay, it must have been a nightmare you had for Gethron lives – he is just over there, though he sleeps at this hour. And everyone else of the company lives, too."

"Halbarad? Was that part of my nightmare too?" Tarkil took time forming his words it pained his brother to note.

"That part is real, I'm afraid. Halbarad fell on the Pelennor." Haldon unstoppered a water skin and let Tarkil slowly sip. "You have to drink, 'Kil, you need to regain your strength."

"Hurts. Every time I breathe … feels like I am on fire." Tarkil fumbled to grab Haldon's shirt as he leaned near so he could hear, "Hal … promise me … promise me you will look after Poppi for me. Go back and make sure she is safe. Take her for yourself if she will have you but treat her right and love her. Oh, Eru, I hurt!"

"I know, little brother, but you are going to go back and see Poppi yourself." Haldon grabbed his brother's hand as he summoned a healer with the other. "Just hang on. Do not give up on me!"

"Promise. Please." A sweat broke out on Tarkil's forehead and Haldon worried to see his eyes start to roll as the healer hurried over with a vessel and held it its fumes in front of his brother's face.

"I promise, but it is not one I will need to keep. You are going to get better. Fight this."

"It is best if you try not to breathe any of this smoke in," the healer's assistant, Miriel, whispered to Haldon. "But it should take his pain away for a while."

Haldon watched as Tarkil closed his eyes, only relaxing once his brother's breathing fell into a regular pattern. "Is there no more that can be done for him?" Haldon slumped heavily beside his brother's still form.

"Nay, we have done all we can." Elladan straightened from binding the last of Tarkil's wounds as Elrohir washed his hands, holding out the bowl for his twin to do the same. "The infection has a strong hold upon him; all we can do is attempt to keep his fever down." Elladan wiped his hands on a towel as he looked at Haldon. "Get some rest yourself, mellon. You do him no good fretting here at his side. The healers shall care for him." They watched until Haldon settled himself beside his brother, then hurried after Aragorn to help tend to the wounded.

"Haldon?" the Ranger looked up vacantly to see Herudil standing beside him, holding out a steaming mug. "How goes it with your brother?"

Haldon shook his head, "He has massive injuries to his back and his ribs are all fractured down one side. He fights an infection from that cesspit where that Rohan soldiers says they found him that his fever soars so high, he goes into seizures."

"He is young yet and as long as he breathes there is hope." Herudil's words did little to lift Haldon's spirits. "Take this, my friend, I brought you some broth; you must keep your own strength up." Haldon reluctantly took the broth, holding his hands around the earthenware as if to gather strength from its warmth. "It was not so long ago he sat beside you at Minas Tirith, the same look of fear on his face as is on yours now. Do not give up hope, Haldon."

"Hope is all I have left." He murmured, not noticing as Herudil placed a hand briefly on his shoulder then left to check on the rest of the Dúnedain.

&-&-&

"Praise them with great praise," the shout went up. The tent shook with the fervour of the soldiers taking part in the joyous celebrations. Aragorn honoured the periannath with a great feast; yet Haldon could not bear to take part in the festivities as much as the others tried to cajole him, keeping instead a silent vigil at his brother's side.

_I miss you, little brother, I miss the bright grins you give and your quiet sighs when you think of that girl you love back home, and the gentle gibes at my expense. You remind me of father at times, and at others, of mother. His grin, her eyes and laugh. So many have we lost, we two. I cannot lose you as well._

"Still no change?" Gethron hoarsely called over to the quiet Ranger.

"No, his fever still rages." Haldon shook his head. "How you doing, old man? How is your hip?"

"Well, I am lying here, missing the celebrations, so how do you think I am doing?" Gethron tried to chuckle, "It could have been worse, lad, I am alive at least, and will be able to go home to my children. Once I can move, that is." Gethron grew quiet for a minute, "His breathing sounds better than it did. Even better than yesterday. He will pull through, Haldon. He is too stubborn to die, he would not leave that girl of his."

"He asked her father to marry her the night we saved their farm, did you know that? The old man turned him down -- said he was not good enough for her, wanted him to quit ranging and be a farmer if he was to seriously ask again. Can you imagine that?" Haldon scorned, "Tarkil spent his whole life protecting that land, fighting Orcs and dark creatures, even ran into a burning house and got badly burned last summer to save one of their little girls to be told him he was not good enough for a Bree girl."

"Was he thinking of quitting so they could marry, do you know?"

"No. Well, I do not think so. But the orders to leave Bree came right after and he volunteered to come south. I have been wondering these past days if he did it not expecting to return. He never said anything to Poppi about marriage, simply asked if she would wait for him to return." Haldon finally allowed.

"Nay, lad, I do not think he had a death wish if that is what you are thinking. The boy has a strong sense of duty; you both do." Gethron reasoned. "We all swore to protect Aragorn. That is all he was doing when he volunteered to come south with us. Besides he told me about asking her father, but he also told me that Henry forbid him to ask Poppi to marry him."

_You should be back home protecting the forests you love. _Yet here you lie, near lifeless save for the slight movement of your chest as it struggles up and down in your body's fight for breath. Haldon put his head in his hands, exhausted, listening to the minstrel sing the praises of the halflings who triumphed over the dark lord, listening to the laboured breathing of his brother till both faded out as he gave in to his fatigue, remembering his arguments encouraging Tarkil to stay in Arnor.

-

"Why?" He scowled at Tarkil as they raced down the Greenway towards Tharbad where they would join up with the other Rangers heading to Rohan. "Why did you have to volunteer to come south? Have you thought at all of Poppi? You finally find someone whom you love and loves you in return and you leave her?"

"I have thought of Poppi," came his brother's muted answer making Haldon even angrier for he could rather rage against his brother if he yelled back. "But my oath as a Ranger comes first. You know that. We swore to protect our land and our king." Tarkil fingered the rayed star on his cloak. "And word has come that Aragorn needs our help – that now is the time for him to claim his crown in defence of Gondor. I will not put aside my oath anymore than you would."

"It is very noble of you but you forget that our people need protection as well. Thirty of us head south - do you realize how thin that leaves our defences – how few there are to protect the villages? Do you not notice no elves accompany us on this quest? Do you think they will be protecting the women and children of our Dúnedain villages or their own sanctuary?"

"Halbarad sent messengers through the villages telling them the defences were weakened and told them to journey to Rivendell as Lord Elrond offered sanctuary to them. You yourself told me many of them decided to heed the warnings – you said the roads from the villages were clogged when you went home to change your gear. Those that do stay in the villages," Tarkil pushed his hair from his eyes as a gust of wind caught it, "it is their choice. Halbarad said I may join you, brother. I am here. Make your peace with it."

-

"My lord? They are serving a great feast and you have not eaten since yesterday." Haldon woke to find Miriel standing over him. "Go join your friends, I will sit with your brother."

He tried to protest but the healer would not listen as she gently shooed him from the tent, watching till he entered the great pavilions.

Haldon stood in the opening, searching for his company, finally spying them in a corner, their grey garb blending in with the shadows, their quiet manner a distinct difference to the boisterousness of the Rohan warriors, and the raucous calls from some of the Gondorian tables.

"Haldon, sit down." Herudil moved to make room as Haldon sunk onto the bench beside the commander. "I am glad you decided to join us. Tarkil would be angry to hear you missed such a feast."

Borgil poured a glass of wine and pressed it into Haldon's hand as the others chatted of the events of the day while the ranger looked around to see Elessar sitting by Éomer and Imrahil and all the great captains. He briefly bowed his head in silent prayer to the loss of Halbarad who deserved to be at that table beside Aragorn - Elessar now, he reminded himself. His gaze ranged over the two halflings that sat in the midst of it all, still amazed that the little ones had managed such a great feat.

They looked bewildered to be sitting not just amongst big folk, for Haldon knew hobbits rarely interacted without outsiders, but amongst Kings, though Frodo seemed more comfortable than Samwise whose eyes grew as large as saucers as he stared at his tablemates.

When the eagles had returned with Mithrandir, and they realized that two small figures came with them, the Rangers quickly formed ranks around their King who knelt beside their still forms, for the battle still raged as Easterlings and Southrons fiercely fought the Swan Knights and Gondorian soldiers. Aragorn gently cradled the small ringbearer in his arms as he spoke to him, while Elladan and Elrohir hurriedly prepared hot water and handed Aragorn some leaves to crush into it. The brothers held the bowl so the fumes could be breathed by the periannath while Aragorn continued talking quietly to Frodo, then Sam. The athelas fragrance wafted through their ranks, giving them all a lift after the battles they had just fought. Yet the ringbearer and his friend Sam did not stir until Aragorn had laboured long and finally Frodo roused briefly before lapsing back into a deep slumber, the same for his friend. The Dúnedain breathed out heavily realizing they had all held their collective breath waiting for the tiny hobbits to be saved by their Captain, only to once again have to face concern when the hobbit they had travelled with had been found crushed beneath a troll.

_But for them, we would all be dead so great was the host Sauron threw against us_.

"Come, Haldon, enough with the long face, it is not like you – eat - drink. Relax for tonight." Vardamir encouraged. "The venison is excellent – it is said that it was caught by the elf himself."

"No, 'Mir, that is not true, I heard the Ithilien Rangers killed it. The elf is an excellent warrior and good singer, though I heard some of his lyrics – I think I could do as good." Meglin countered, trying to get their dispirited friend out of his melancholy. "I heard him sing something about the sea. Terrible rhymes and for an elf yet!"

Eventually their cajoling and forced frivolity worked as they briefly managed to distract Haldon from his despondency. The night had grown late before he returned to his seat in the healing tent to find Miriel talking with his brother.

"He is awake? Why did you not summon me?" Haldon sat on the opposite side, watching as she dribbled water into Tarkil's mouth.

She shook her head, "He would not know if you were here. He still does not know where he is, Haldon, the poppy seed he's been given affects him though his fever has broken. He thinks I am either his mother or someone named Poppi."

"I am sorry, Naneth, it is not Val's fault. I climbed the tree on my own. Please do not punish Val!"

Haldon closed his eyes when he heard his brother's rasping plea. "He was only about nine when he broke his arm in a fall from a tree he had been climbing – that must be what he is remembering. Mother suspected Valandur dared him to climb this huge spruce in the woods behind our house but Tarkil always denied it."

"Who is Valandur? A friend?" Miriel quietly asked.

"One of our brothers – he was a year older than 'Kil. They were inseparable until the Nazgûl attacked his patrol last year." He did not need to say the obvious result as she nodded her head and reached across to briefly lay her hand on his, "Val confessed to me years later that he _had _dared Tarkil – said he was terrified that Mother would punish him but Tarkil promised he would not tell and he never did." Haldon watched Tarkil's pain-filled eyes turn to him.

Haldon watched his brother fade in and out of consciousness, finally losing the battle as his eyes closed once more.

"I am sorry, Haldon. His fever has broken; just give him time." Miriel walked around the bed to place a hand on Haldon's shoulder. "There is not much more you can do for him. Why do you not get some rest yourself?"

Haldon rolled out his bedroll beside Tarkil, determined not to leave him again, worried by his brother's confusion. He lay listening to his brother sleep, hearing the snores and moans of the wounded around them as a clear-voiced singer passed by …

"_The voices of my people that have gone before me?_

_I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;_

_for our days are ending and our years are failing_

_I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing …." _

Haldon snorted, "Meglin is right, that is a terrible rhyme!" He rolled over seeking his own rest.

* * *

Mellon friend 

Naneth mother


	3. Fractured Memories

"It is going to take many turns of the moon before you are healed, Tarkil." Elrohir washed his hands after rebinding Tarkil's wounds.

"Haldon tells me you and your brother helped me when they brought me in. I want to thank you, my lord, both of you, for what you did. He says I would not have survived if you had not been here." Tarkil paused as he frowned. "But there is one thing I do not understand."

"What is that?"

Tarkil took a breath and finally looked into the healer's eyes, "there are whole days that I do not remember. Haldon says I suffered seizures from the infection; did they … am I … unfit?"

"Ah," Elrohir knelt beside his patient, "I see what your concern is. No, Tarkil, it is the body's way of protecting you; think of it as another of Eru's gifts. But you recognize your brother and us, and you can remember things from earlier. So no, I do not think you shall be found unfit. Do not trouble yourself about that." The Peredhel stood, "Rest, my friend; that is the best way to allow your body to heal. I will check on you again tomorrow."

Tarkil nodded and watched him stride off to talk with the healer's assistant. He finally settled back to stare up, watching the canvas of the tent ripple in the afternoon breezes. 'You can remember things from earlier,' Elrohir said. Is my mind sound? What I _do _I remember?

_-_

"Methedras – that is the last peak; we are nearly to the Gap of Rohan," Elrohir called out; soon they slowed their horses as the peredhil led them across the ford of the River Isen and quickly spurred their horses back to thunder across the Rohan plains until they heard a voice cry out from the gloom of the night, calling for them to halt.

The company pulled up on their mounts, and remembering Halbarad's orders, carefully kept their hands away from their swords so as not to threaten the guard of that land. They all breathed a sigh of relief once Aragorn approached and embraced Halbarad, as the Rohan warriors relaxed slightly. When they started moving again, they rode beside the Rohirrim, though they shared a few glances to see the wizard Mithrandir in their midst for it had been whispered amongst them that the peredhil had said he had fallen to the depths in Moria. And unspoken questions were also considered when they saw a hobbit lifted to ride with their Captain.

Aragorn held his horse back until he drew even with Halbarad and his foster-brothers and spoke for a while with them.

Tarkil, through his exhaustion, tried not to eavesdrop but he heard small snatches of conversation that caused a chill to run through him – "_If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead."_ He chanced a glance at Haldon to see if he had overheard, but his brother gave no outward sign though he thought he saw Borgil and Meglin both stiffen.

When they finally arrived at Helms Deep, each man felt ready to collapse in exhaustion yet sternly they stayed to make sure their horses had suffered no hurt, taking the time to brush them down, and make sure they had water, then checked and cleaned their tack, knowing that in the morn they would ride hard once more, their journey only halfway over. When done, they finally followed the Rohan warriors to a great hall where the Dúnedain claimed a corner and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning they rose and thanked their hosts as they broke their fast together. The Dúnedain suppressed grins when they saw the many looks cast the Peredhil's way. They spent the morning gathered in a corner of the hall, cleaning their gear and sharpening and oiling their blades, especially after seeing the damage done to the Deep.

Tarkil sighed as Haldon once again pointed out the dangers he had volunteered to face as they mounted their horses on the green in front of the keep awaiting their Captain and kin.

"Look around you – do you see signs of an easy battle?" Haldon gestured over the battlements. "Did you hear the talk of what happened here over the last few days – ten thousand, perhaps more, they say attacked this place? And that is just a fraction of what we will face in Gondor!"

"I heard, Hal, and you made your point before." Tarkil turned from watching the fields. "I am more worried with the Captain. Have you ever seen him so worn?"

"He has just been through a great bloody battle, 'Kil. Of course, he is tired."

"No, that is not what I mean, this was more than just tired. He did not look so when we arrived this morning." Tarkil argued. "He was tired, I will grant you, but when he came back just now with Halbarad to speak with the King – there was a shadow over him – as if he had battled Sauron himself."

"Did you not hear where we head?" Meglin called from behind, overhearing Tarkil's comment. "Some place called the Paths of the Dead. Did you not see the Rohan King and his heir turn pale when he mentioned the way?"

"To find the oath breakers? That is a tale I have not heard in years. Yet we will follow where Aragorn leads us, Meglin, and we will not question his wisdom." Herudil sternly reminded their friend as he moved his mount beside them. "Do not trouble him, or the others, with such speculations."

"Oh, I shall follow the Captain; do not doubt that. He has to lead a great host to Gondor to fight Sauron and reclaim his throne – but from what I have heard, even without having to fight Sauron's forces, the Steward of Gondor will not give up his seat easily." Meglin continued, "Too long have they had the power of kingship without a crown, I have heard it goes to his head."

"Let us fight Sauron's forces first, and see if Gondor stands at the end before we worry about such things." Haldon grumbled. "That is all we would need – to win the war only to face battling our own kin at the end of it all."

And so they stood together on the green, patiently waiting, watching the dwarf and the elf wander by, and they wondered at the story behind the friendship of what were usually two enemies.

&-&

_I remember that day so clearly, why can I not remember so many others? _He turned his head and saw Elrohir talking with the healer's assistant and glance back at him. _What is it you do not tell me?_ He sighed and let himself give in to his exhaustion and pain.

"How is he today, my lord Elrohir?" Miriel quietly asked.

"His bones are healing and he seems to be in less pain. Have you told him about the extent of the injury to his back yet?" Elrohir glanced over at Tarkil as his patient finally closed his eyes and rested.

"No. He spends most of his time sleeping, he rarely rouses; that is the longest I have seen him awake." The healer's assistant spoke quietly to ensure her voice would not carry across the tent.

"He still seems to be in a great deal of pain. And we need to make sure he has enough nourishment, he has lost a great deal of weight from battling the infection." Elrohir watched Miriel nod as he started walking towards the entrance of the healing tent. "Just keep an eye on him, time and rest are the best remedies right now." He paused at the opening of the tent and looked back over the injured. "At least this tent is gradually emptying. You must miss Minas Tirith and having a more comfortable place to sleep, my lady."

She smiled up at him, "I have slept in worse places." She laughed at his upraised eyebrow, " Gondor has been fighting battles other than just this one and I have been sent to situations like this before. I do look forward to returning to the great city. I find this area is quite pretty though I worry about not having the proper facilities for my patients. But I understand we may be here for almost another month."

&-&

"How is he doing?" a familiar voice roused Tarkil from his slumber and he heard Haldon reply.

"His fever has broken, and he is talking sensibly now." He heard Haldon sigh. "I never got a chance to thank you for helping carry him here, Jorund."

Tarkil opened his eyes to see a Rohan soldier nod to him. "Hail, Tarkil, my friend. You definitely look more lively than the last time I checked on you. But you do not look as fit when first I talked with you as we rode to the Morannon."

Tarkil struggled to remember that week as Haldon hurriedly frowned and shook his head at the visitor. "He does not remember things clearly yet. The healers say the fever scrambled some of his memories."

"Having seen the quagmire he lay in, I'm surprised he survived the fevers. I was up to my knees in the muck; I nearly lost my boots when I tried to lift my feet from it."

"My brother is right, I only remember fragments of the battle itself, and the days before are a blur. " Tarkil croaked, so his brother helped him take a sip from a water skin as Jorund sat down beside him. "You say we met before?"

"Yes, we rode with your Grey Company for a while on the way here." Jorund reminded the injured Dúnedain.

Tarkil closed his eyes and tried to remember that week and ask he listened to the Rohan soldier's resonant cadence, fragments started flitting through his mind.

-

"I'll hold your horse for you, my lord, if you'll allow me." A young Rohirrim soldier offered as Tarkil dismounted.

Tarkil frowned at the soldier while Haldon also dismounted and a second Rohan soldier approached, grinning at the youth.

"He waits for your name before he shall hand you his horse, boy. Have you forgotten your manners in your haste to assist these men of the North?" Tarkil watched the second soldier with a critical eye, guessing them to be about the same age.

"I am Hildaf, my lord, son of Dúnhild of Dunharrow." The youth bowed hastily to Tarkil and his brother, blushing bright under his fair hair.

"Take care of their mounts, young Hildaf, for they shall soon be needed in battle. My lords, I am Jorund of the Westfold of Rohan. You must forgive his manners, my lords, but he is quite intrigued to meet the Men of the North. You have kept to yourselves so much of this journey and he grew impatient to learn more of you." The tall blonde soldier of Rohan put a hand to his chest and bowed before he tugged off his helm. "I saw you at Helms Deep in what seems to be an age ago but we did not have the opportunity to talk with each other. I was surprised to see you upon the fields at Pelennor given the road you took to get there."

The two brothers simply nodded at that and introduced themselves then set to the task of helping remove the Orkan monstrosity that had been placed upon the statue of the King by the Morgul Vale.

"So tell me, Jorund of Westfold, do you often allow such youngsters to ride into battle?" Haldon grunted as they pulled on the ropes to help guide the statue's head back into place.

"Hildaf is young, I grant you, but our youth are strong and raised to battle. It is necessary given the attacks we have had of late. Besides his grandfather is the chieftain of Dunharrow and he has been raised plotting strategy since he crawled. Do you not train your sons to defend their land? Or do you wait until they are full grown to let them hold a blade? Your men are stern and have a weathered look about them." He paused as he eyed the tall dark-haired men from the North who surrounded them, working without speaking and compared them to the banter of the golden haired Rohirrim. "From what I have seen you two are among the youngest of your company. Or do your people show their age quicker than the Rohan people? Perhaps you have not yet reached an age old enough to bed a woman?" Jorund suppressed a grin when he saw the younger brother's eyes narrow at the implication.

"He is teasing you, 'Kil." Haldon put out a warning hand and grinned back at the soldier as he saw his brother start to react. "You will have to excuse my younger brother. He has a bit of a temper, though I must admit it is a family trait. But he should be used to such teasing given our brother married a woman from your land. She is from the King's city of Edoras and is sharp with her wit as well." Seeing his brother continue to glower Haldon answered Jorund's challenge. "And our sons will be raised to hold a sword from the time they can walk, as well. We are not unfamiliar with Orcs and Wargs either, for long have we had to defend our land from the evil of the Dark Lord."

Tarkil remembered journeying with the Rohan soldiers for the next few days as those who had horses were sent ahead of the unhorsed. And on the fourth day from the cross-roads, they watched as Aragorn spoke to the men as the fear of the land clutched at the hearts of some granting them leave to return to their homes.

"That is a smart move of the Captain," Gethron muttered so only the company could hear. "Better to let them leave to defend their homes than to force them to stand unwilling beside us."

Tarkil caught the sidelong glance Haldon gave him, and uttered only one word. "No."

-

"You helped us restore the statue of the king near Minas Morgul. At least, I think it was you. But there was another young lad with you, was there not? Hildaf?"

Jorund nodded, "Yes, Hildaf took an arrow in the fight at the Gate, but he is recovering. I hear you lost your horse, is that true?"

Tarkil nodded. "Nálo got hit with a troll's mace … but he had been badly hurt even before that." The memory of having to kill his horse to put it out of its misery stayed with him and he closed his eyes and frowned.

"A few of the Dúnedain lost their mounts," Haldon said quietly. "Gethron, Meglin, Vardamir …and quite a few more. Eventually we just let the poor things go – Gandalf set Shadowfax to lead them away from the battle once we saw we were engulfed. We found most of them later in Ithilien, though some will not be fit for battle again."

Tarkil looked at his brother, "I did not know that. Did you get Feinnail back?"

Haldon nodded, "He is fine, though he limped for a few days after we found him but Elladan and Elrohir tended him so he will be fit for the journey home."

Finally the healer returned and shooed the visitor away as she handed Tarkil a cup of poppy seed tea and rejoined him to drink it to the dregs which he did, though not without a grimace. He lay back on the palette then had to ask his brother for some help as the liquid reminded him of his needs.

"Hal?" Tarkil shifted to try to find a more comfortable position once Haldon returned. "I have noticed everyone else gets up when they need to relieve themselves. Even Gethron whose hip is broken -- they help him sit at least. Why am I still flat on my back? Am I crippled?"

"What have the healers told you?" Haldon shifted, looking uncomfortable while avoiding meeting his eye.

"They mutter things about waiting and being patient. 'All in good time' seems to get repeated a lot." Tarkil reached over and grabbed Haldon's arm. "Tell me the truth, Haldon. Am I never going to walk?"

Haldon sighed as he finally looked at his brother, "The healers are right, 'Kil. We do not yet know. There is an injury to your back and there is a great deal of bruising and swelling, according to Elrohir. The night they brought you in, you should not have been moved at all but it was bedlam that night, 'Kil. We had to move everyone away from the Morannon because we did not know if there would be more attacks. There were so many injured, and you were one of the last brought in. Everyone was exhausted."

"So I may never walk?" Tarkil closed his eyes and turned his head away from his brother, trying to shut out the thought of being confined to a bed the rest of his life.

"That is not what I said, brother. Do not go down that path. I said they do not know yet." Haldon grabbed his brother's leg, "Do you feel that, Tarkil?" He watched his brother nod his head once, "it is possible you shall walk again. Elrohir said you had damage; he believes it was from the fall you took when the fell beast dropped you, but he said that as long as you felt your legs there was hope. Do not give in to despair."

"I think I would rather not live than be so confined and be such a burden on everyone."

Haldon heard the misery in his brother's voice, and roughened his own in response, unconsciously adopting Halbarad's gruff tone, "Stop thinking that way, brother! You are going to walk again, you are going to ride a horse, and you are going to marry Poppi. Do not give in to your dark thoughts."

Tarkil stared up at his brother. "Poppi really is pretty, Hal. Do you not think so?"

Haldon watched Tarkil's eyes go dark as the drug took effect. "Yes, Poppi is very pretty. I am looking forward to seeing her when we get back. Maybe ask her out on a picnic or two." He grinned to see his brother attempt to glower at him but fail.

"Wha' dyou mean? She is my girrrl." Tarkil slurred.

"Not anymore she is not. You gave her to me – right after the battle. You told me I could have her." He winked at Miriel who came to check on his brother's condition.

"Did not … would not … give her … She is so sweet." Tarkil murmured, his head lolling to the side.

"Is he talking about his girl again?" Miriel asked as she checked Tarkil's pulse.

"Poppi? Yes. He wants to marry her." Haldon's eyes swept over the healer's assistant, not for the first time. "But her father does not approve of her marrying a Dúnedain."

"If I were the girl, I do not think I would let my father stand in the way of marrying him. And you? Does your wife wait for you back up north?" Miriel asked as she straightened the covers around Tarkil.

Haldon smiled brightly at her and winked when she glanced up, "I am not married." He waited for her to finish fussing with his brother and trailed along after her as she tended to the other patients in the tent, "Say, Miriel, I found this nice grove up on the hill overlooking the river. What say we get some food from the mess hall and have ourselves a picnic?"

"Picnic …" Tarkil muttered as he drifted off to sleep. "Do not let him take you on a picnic, Poppi…. You are not ready…."


	4. Return to Minas Tirith

Thanks to Sulriel, Branwyn and Daw of Stories of Arda, as well as Kathira of for their kind suggestions and comments that serve to prop my flagging self-confidence.

* * *

Tarkil awoke to orders being called out and oars creaking and splashing, as the crew tried to steer away from the rocks the swift moving current pushed their ship towards. Calls of advice and laughter floated across the broad river from the flotilla of vessels surrounding them that bore the bulk of the King's men from the fields of Cormallen towards Minas Tirith in preparation for Elessar's coronation and entry to the stone city. 

"Feeling better, 'Kil?" Haldon knelt on the deck beside him, as Tarkil struggled to sit up amongst the other Rangers arrayed in a tight group around their wounded brethren.

"I still ache, but I cannot complain." Tarkil took the mug his brother held out and wrinkled his nose as he sniffed it, "Willow bark - again?"

"I know moving you onto the ship last night aggravated your back so stop your whining." Haldon sighed. "We should be at the docks of Osgiliath soon and then we can get you up to the Houses of the Healing where you will be able to sleep in a proper bed."

"That will be a welcome change. I cannot remember the last time I slept in a bed with a mattress and pillow." Tarkil said.

He heard Gethron grumble a similar comment and realized his friend lay on a thin pallet beside where his brother sat. He attempted to peer around his brother, but stopped when the wound on his back reminded him of his limited abilities.

"I can." Haldon grinned. "It was right before we left, and I had some nice warm companionship, too. Her family fled north after orcs attacked their village, she told me. I managed to convince her to let me shelter with her for a while. Quite an obliging lass she was."

"Hal, one of these days you are going to get caught by an irate father, or you will find yourself approached by a maid from days past who has borne your child expecting you to do right by her. You really need to control yourself and settle down." Tarkil shook his head to hear his brother chuckle.

"Nay, I will leave that to you and your girl to do. I shall live vicariously through you. One day I will find a nice Dúnadan woman but I am not ready just yet"

Tarkil handed the mug back, but held it when Haldon tried to take it from him, making his brother look him in the eye, "I have seen you when you think no one is looking, Hal. I think you have already given your heart to someone but feel you cannot speak of her – even to me. One of these days, I am going to find out who she is, this secret love of yours."

Haldon frowned and shook his head, "No, Tarkil. You shall not."

"I wager she is married – that she is the wife of someone important." Meglin grinned as Haldon frowned at his friend, causing Herudil and Anardil to snort. "All right, not married then, but someone he cannot have or cannot admit to having without getting challenged."

"Or maybe she is an elf!" Gethron's gibe elicited hoots of laughter from Meglin, Angrim and Vardamir.

"Oh, please! Do not make me laugh, it hurts too much still." Tarkil grabbed his ribs as he tried to stop laughing. He saw Haldon frown. "Oh, do not worry so, Hal, Elrohir looked at me yesterday and said I am healing properly. But right now I feel like one giant bruise. And at least I can walk now, so you do not have to carry that bedpan back and forth – I know how much you loved that duty!"

Haldon settled back against the hull, stretching his legs out between the two men as he looked up at the clear blue sky. "I did not mind, 'Kil, well, not too much anyway." He sat silently for a while watching the gulls soar effortlessly overhead. "At least it is much brighter than the last time I was on a ship. And I have finally slept. Eru, I was exhausted when we finally reached Pelargir. Six days of hard travel from that accursed mountain. I do not think I had one good night's sleep that whole time. I kept having nightmares and would wake up in a cold sweat surrounded by those wretched grey shadows."

They nodded their heads and grew quiet as two Ithilien Rangers walked through their midst, waiting for them to pass before they resumed their conversation.

"You had nightmares, too?" Meglin shook his head. "I thought it was just me – those ghosts that followed us haunted my dreams. I kept having nightmares where I was being attacked but my sword kept slipping out of my hand. I would wake up in a panic and not want to go back to sleep."

One by one, they each admitted that their own dreams taunted and mocked them, haunting them with thoughts of failure and loss. "What did you think of that awful mountain we had to go through?" Meglin finally ventured to ask. "When I heard mention of the Paths of the Dead, I did not think they really meant 'the dead.' And when I saw that black hole, I wondered if it meant we had to be dead to get through it."

"I knew the tale of the oath-breakers but you are right, the same thoughts crossed my mind when we entered that maw. I do not ever want to think of that place again. It will give me nightmares for the rest of my life," Gethron said quietly while the others agreed; they grew quiet again when several guards of the Tower went through their midst and Tarkil closed his eyes as he remembered his fear through the seemingly endless passage

- -

_Paths of the Dead _echoed through his mind as Tarkil took the step through the dark door following Aragorn, shoving away the fear that seized his heart. He could feel Nálo tremble as his horse followed him into the black passage where no light shone save for the flickering beacon in Aragorn's hand. "It is all right, boy, the lord Aragorn leads us." He wondered if he whispered the words for the horse's good or his own.

_Where do you lead us, my captain? _I shall follow you to my death as I have promised, but let us not fall here where no one might find us, let us die in battle. Tarkil was glad for the gloom for he could feel himself break out in a cold sweat as they traversed the caverns, suddenly unsure about his fitness to accompany these brave Rangers around him. _Was Haldon right_? Should he have stayed behind? Or perhaps Borgil was correct when that ranger questioned Tarkil's fitness given his youth and inexperience compared to the rest. The young Ranger continued to follow his captain, resolute in his duty, yet his knees quaked and it took all his effort to continue to put one foot in front of the other, especially after watching Aragorn pause over the skeleton they found in an earlier chamber. _Is that how we shall be found – hundreds of years from now – dusty bones deep in the heart of this black mountain?_

And still he walked, though now there was no light to follow, extinguished hours ago by a sudden, cold gust, only the sound of the horse in front of him guiding his steps. _Eru protect us that we do not walk off a cliff – how can Aragorn see where he goes without the light? Is his blood still so strong with elven sight that he can see where I cannot?_

He tripped over something soft and reached out cautiously to feel what it was he had encountered.

"Sorry, it is just me," Tarkil heard a gruff voice proclaim. "I cannot see where I am going!"

The Dwarf! Were they not accustomed to such darkness, living deep in the roots of such mountains? _If a dwarf stumbles in such a place as this – what chance do men have?_ Tarkil took a deep breath, steadying his nerves and helped the dwarf to his feet as he heard the soft footsteps follow behind, yet he knew no man, elf or dwarf made these footsteps.

_The Paths of the Dead_ this place is called, he thought again. The home of the Oath-breakers, now long dead, yet summoned by the heir of Isildur. _Are we now dead also_? Poppi, I asked you to wait … _Shall I return to you only in spirit, unable to touch you or kiss you again?_ Yet as he wondered that, he could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and Nálo's breath warm his hand as he held the reins close. Surely no ghost would have a heart beat, nor be able to feel a breath upon them.

He steadied himself and continued trudging along determined to follow Aragorn to the end. Finally, as his heart was about to give up and his knees readied to sink to the ground in fear, he heard the sound of trickling water and realized the blackness gradually lightened to an enveloping grey gloom before they passed through another high arch.

The ranger took a deep breath, and heard others in front of him and behind doing the same. He peered up to see stars glimmering between the sheer cliffs surrounding them as they mounted their horses. Courage returned slowly once he had Nálo beneath him, a reassuring normalcy to the act after such a harrowing trek.

Tarkil looked around to see his brother a few riders back, looking unshaken. He felt ashamed that he could see no signs of fear on any of the other Rangers' faces, wondering if they saw the fear on his, not realizing he wore the same dour mask they all donned.

A call from a passing ship roused Tarkil from his memories and he shivered despite the warm summer day.

Vardamir finally broke the stillness as he pulled out a small flask from his belt pouch and took a swig before passing it to Angrim who lay beside him. "I was so glad to see that King of the Mountain break his spear and throw it down. To watch them all disappear like an early morning fog once we had control of the ships made me feel much safer."

"Is that what happened?" Tarkil asked. "I could not see from my ship. I heard all the trumpets go off – they scared most of the slaves on board. They all thought they were being attacked again and since they were still in chains, they started panicking expecting the ghosts to come back for them. We could not get them loose for a long while; turned out the man with the keys had gone overboard. By the time I got a chance to look, the oath-breakers had disappeared."

"They fought pretty hard even after all they'd been through; they were good men," Herudil reflected.

"_All they'd been through_? They were the oath-breakers! What do you mean they were good? They could have stopped Sauron an age ago if they had honoured their oaths." Meglin argued.

"Not the spirits, you fool! The captives we freed on the ships." The commander scowled as Meglin shrugged his shoulders, causing the others to smile. "My group – some of them had backs so raw from the whips, it is a wonder they could pull on their oars, yet they volunteered to stay on board and each and every one of them laboured hard transferring the supplies and then sat back at those oars moving those ships against the current till the wind finally picked up. And later on the Pelennor – they fought as hard as any of us, I would wager."

"They had as much to fight for, maybe more," Haldon said quietly. "Most of the ones from my group had been captured in fights around the villages we went through. They were fighting for their homes, their families. What better cause to fight for than that?"

Sailors hurried past so they fell silent again, each lost in their own thoughts of what they had been through, until the ship docked at Osgiliath.

Haldon helped Tarkil down the ramp and led him to the wagon for the injured to take them up into the city.

"No, Hal, I am not going up there. Aragorn's coronation is tomorrow. And I do not want to be flat on my back listening; I want to see it. Our family has fought too long, and we have sacrificed too much for me to miss seeing him finally crowned." Tarkil tried to stand straight in resistance to the healer's effort to help him onto the wagon.

"You have to be the most stubborn …" Haldon closed his eyes in the effort to keep from cursing his brother but knew he would have to bodily pick him up and force him onto the wagon to get him to accompany the healers. "Will you go there _after_ the coronation? Would you at least promise me that? And you must do nothing tonight but lie on your bedroll – will you promise that, too?"

"I just want to see the coronation for myself. For Grandfather, and Father, for Celepharn and Valandur and all our ancestors who died while protecting our land. I will not be a weakling lying on a cot unable to see him sit on his throne, Hal."

Haldon sighed and helped Tarkil over to the where the rest of the Dúnedain stood waiting, "Very well. But I hold you to your promise that you will willingly go to the healers afterwards."

&-&-&

All the bells in Minas Tirith rang over the fields the next morning when Haldon grasped his brother's hand and put a hand behind his back preparing to lift him. "I really wish you had gone up to the Houses of the Healing. You have not been up and about for many days – I think you are being overly optimistic to say you can march and stand for so long."

"Once I am up, I am all right. It is the getting up and down that causes the problems. Now one, two, three – lift, --- Arrrgh!" Tarkil swayed on his feet, holding onto Haldon until he found his balance, panting at the pain the effort caused as he attempted to will the spasm in his back to calm.

Haldon frowned at his brother once more, shaking his head at the glare shot his way. He helped Tarkil put on the rest of his new uniform, muttering about his brother's obstinate nature. He watched Tarkil do up his belt and look around in puzzlement. "What is the matter, 'Kil?"

"I do not have a sword. It is not right that I go without one." Tarkil frowned.

Haldon reached into his pack and retrieved the remnants of Berior. "Here, just put the hilt in its scabbard. We will get another one made for you soon enough, or perhaps someone who wishes to retire would part with his."

Tarkil attached the scabbard to his belt, then hefted the hilt of his sword, sighing at the short, jagged blade. "It served me well. But I do not feel right not wearing a full sword. It does not seem proper somehow."

"It shall do for today and it worked for Aragorn for all those years. Now sheath it, and let's finish getting you dressed; the ceremony will start shortly." Haldon watched his brother with concern. "Are you sure you are ready to march the distance we must? Are you sure you can handle standing for the length of the ceremony? It would not look good for us Rangers if you keeled over halfway through."

"I shall be fine, now hand me that cloak, and I think I am done." Tarkil fastened the clasp, sighing as he saw his brother's rayed star glint, and wished he had his own in place but knew it had been lost on the battlefield at the Morannon. He looked up to see his brother watching at him, a strange expression on his face. "What?"

"You clean up pretty good, 'Kil if I do say so myself." Haldon turned away as if he hid some hint of emotion that he did not wish his brother to see.

"Hey, you two, are you ready to go?" Meglin stuck his head in their tent, grinning as the brothers replied in unison.

Tarkil squinted as they walked out of the tent to see the sun's rays reflecting off the other rangers, the silver on their uniforms glinting in the bright summer sun in dazzling points of light.

They both stared up when the standard of the Stewards flapped in the wind upon the White Tower far above the field where they stood. "We are seeing history unfurl before our eyes, you realize, Hal. I wish Father was alive to see this … how he longed to see Aragorn on the throne."

"I wish Halbarad lived to see his friend crowned," Haldon quietly said. "They were like brothers, those two."

"Are we ready?" Herudil asked as they lined up with the Dúnedain of Gondor. As a single man, they marched behind him to the great tent where Aragorn prepared for his coronation. He stepped out as they arrived and Tarkil swelled with pride to see his Captain, clad in black mail, don a small silver circlet handed to him by Elladan and Elrohir. A star at its centre shone in the bright sun, competing with the glittering green jewel that held his cloak around his shoulders.

Glancing out the corner of his eye, Tarkil saw all the Dúnedain draw themselves up straighter, proud of their Captain, proud that they were there to witness him fulfill his destiny by claiming his crown.

Elessar clasped the arms of his foster brothers, gave a nod to the Rangers, and led them across the wide plain towards the gates of Minas Tirith.

Tarkil marvelled at the silence of the crowd, knowing all eyes watched his captain when King Éomer, Prince Imrahil, Gandalf and the four hobbits joined them in their silent trek. When a lone trumpet rang across the land, they stopped their march as the Steward knelt before their Captain.

_Nay, no longer just my captain but Elessar – King of the United Realm, _Tarkil reminded himself

The Dúnedain needed no words that morning; all shared the same feelings as they watched the Steward address the people asking if Elessar should be allowed to enter the city. The ground shook beneath their feet as the people shouted out in response. "Yea!"

They held their breath as Faramir held the great crown of Earnur aloft for all to seen, the sun's rays sparkling off it as Aragorn took the crown and held it up calling

_Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome Maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!__i_

_Oh, Father, if only you could have been alive to hear Elendil's words that you so longed to hear uttered. How many times did you recite them to me, telling me one day I would see Aragorn claim his heritage and his throne._

When Gandalf placed the crown upon his captain's head, it was all Tarkil could do to keep the tears from flowing down his face. Knowing no eyes were on them but on his king, Tarkil gave a quick glance askance and saw many of the same feelings flit across the other Rangers' faces as they struggled to maintain their stern look.

"_Behold the King!"__ii_

Aragorn strode through the gates of the city, strewn with flowers, heralded by trumpets and music, accompanied silently by the stone-faced Rangers who followed him through the streets of the city to his great hall at the top level, the King's standard now fluttering atop the great White Tower of Ecthelion.

When he finally mounted the steps and sat upon the King's throne, the Dúnedain as a man shouted a great cheer for their captain. Their King.

* * *

**Notes: **

I drew the discussion on the ship while they're returning to Minas Tirith from The Last Debate – ROTK: _And then to each of the great ships that remained Aragorn sent one of the Dúnedain, and they comforted the captives that were aboard, and bade them put aside fear and be free._

I do not claim to have written the entirety of the coronation scene for as I am sure you've noticed I intercut some of the Professor's own words from The Steward and the King into my story.

i The Steward and the King, ROTK, JRRTolkien

ii The Steward and the King, ROTK, JRRTolkien


	5. Positions Reversed

**Positions Reversed**

Thanks to Branwyn and Sulriel for their excellent suggestions and beta'ing of this chapter

* * *

The cheers for Aragorn died down in the great throne room, and members of the various guards that had accompanied the King to the citadel relaxed and mingled as the celebrations began. An enthusiastic Rohirrim slapped Tarkil on the back in greeting, causing him to gasp as waves of pain seized him. He shook the man's arm and nodded his head then quickly excused himself as he desperately struggled to push through the throng. He finally saw Haldon standing by a great statue, talking with Jorund.

"Hal…"

Haldon turned to see Tarkil, a sheen of sweat on his brow, his lips pursed together in pain. Haldon and Jorund grabbed Tarkil's arms as he started to sway. "Come on, to the Houses of Healing with you. I told you, you should not have tried this. You are as stubborn as Celepharn and Father were, do you know that?" Haldon said.

"I just need to sit down, that is all." Tarkil argued but clung tightly to his brother and his new friend. "Help me out to the fresh air, will you?"

"You are going to lie down in the Houses of Healing and rest properly, the way you were ordered to yesterday," Haldon chided his brother. "Angrim, Gethron and the others went quietly enough with few grumbles; only you, dear brother, were stubborn enough to refuse the offer of a comfortable bed and a comely healer at your side."

"Hah! I have seen the … healer they have ….up here." Tarkil tried not to groan at the spasms in his back as they nearly lifted him off his feet in their haste to get him to the sixth level of the city. "I do not think comely describes him at all. Nor his helper Ioreth – a dried up old apple core she is. Oh, it is so hard to … breathe … I cannot …" His energy totally expended, his head lolled onto his chest and he collapsed in his brother's arms.

Tarkil awoke to feel a cool hand holding his wrist, then a finger placed against his neck. "The willow bark will allow him to rest through the night … there is not much more we can do other than wait and make him recover at a more reasonable pace," a voice quietly spoke above him. "Allowing him to stand and walk for so long today put too much of a strain on him. You should have insisted he accompany the healers here yesterday."

Tarkil heard a quiet sigh from beside him. "I tried, my lord Elrohir, but he refused. He can be very stubborn and pigheaded sometimes." Tarkil recognized Haldon's voice.

_I am stubborn and pigheaded_? _I can remind you of a few times when you fought the healer's advice, my dear brother_, Tarkil thought.

"He should not try to get up without help – and then only to relieve him. I will speak with the healers. Even once he is released from here, you must stop him from riding a horse or even hefting his sword until the healers tell him he is ready."

_Is that not wonderful advice? Now I will be kept in bed for the remainder of the year – Haldon will never let me up. _

Tarkil opened his eyes to see Elrohir leaning over him, frowning; Haldon sat beside him, concern mixed with exhaustion on his brother's face.

"Your brother tells me you would not listen to the healers when we arrived at the docks and insisted on joining in the ceremony, Ranger. I expect that when a healer tells you to do something, you shall do it without question. I shall not be here to catch you next time you fall." Elrohir folded his arms as he stared down at the ranger, and all thoughts of arguing with the Peredhel quickly fled from Tarkil's mind.

"Yes, my lord Elrohir. I shall do as they say," Tarkil said, glancing askance as Haldon snorted.

"I will believe that when I see it. You meekly going along with the healers – that will be a first!"

"I shall check with them each day to make sure he does." Elrohir said with a stern look at Tarkil. "My brother and I leave next week to escort my father and sister here. I will put him in your charge at that time ... perhaps you can put some sense into his head." With a nod to Haldon, the Peredhel left the two brothers alone.

Haldon ran a hand through his hair, "Tarkil, you have to be the most stubborn, pig-headed mule. Will you please promise me you will do as lord Elrohir says and obey the healers?"

Tarkil rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yes, Hal, I will." He sighed when he saw Haldon's scepticism, "I give you my word, I will not argue with the healers."

"And…"

"And I will drink any of the foul potions they hand me." Tarkil frowned. "Well, unless it is poppy tea – I do not want to have to go through that again."

"That's fair enough. And you must promise not to try to get out of bed without help – and you must return immediately after," Haldon sternly lectured. "And once you are released from here, you will not ride a horse or do anything strenuous until I tell you that you may."

Tarkil scowled at his brother. "I promise I will not try to get out of bed without someone to help me _and _I will return immediately after. I do not have a horse to ride anymore, but yes, that too." Tarkil sighed again as he stared at the ceiling. "You know it was not that long ago our places were reversed, and I sat here beside you while you lay in this very bed – I remember that stain on the ceiling."

Haldon glanced up. "Yes, I think you are right, but I think you will be able to examine that spot for a lot longer than I had to. I only spent two nights here."

"They were two very long nights for me, though. At the end of a very long week."

"It was a very long week – for everyone." Haldon leaned back, tipping his chair against the wall. "From the ride through the mountain and down to the water, and then the fight on the Pelennor. It was a long week for us all. Now stop talking and close your eyes. Get some sleep, little brother."

Overcome with exhaustion and pain, Tarkil slipped into a troubled slumber, his memories of that night weaving through his dreams.

&-&

Tarkil stood on the quarterdeck as the ship approached Minas Tirith, watching the fires catch and burn the great city. "How can stone burn so?" a Lamedon soldier near Tarkil wondered aloud.

Tarkil stared at the huge beasts lumbering across the fields wreaking havoc in their path. He grabbed the arm of the captain of the troops that filled the ship. "These beasts - what is their weakness? Do they have one? How do we fight them?"

The captain shook his head in resignation. "The _Mûmakil_? None that we know. Find a tender spot such as their eyes, if you can I suppose. But their hides are thick, and our arrows are like pinpricks to them."

As the ships drew closer, Tarkil studied the strange forces attacking the outnumbered Gondor warriors. Some were stern, fierce men who did not have the sallow complexions of Orcs; swarthy like the Corsairs the company had fought on the way to Pelargir. The Ranger watched as soldiers, clad in bright scarlet uniforms, flashed their white teeth at their victims as they viciously attacked the defenders, while others reminded Tarkil of trolls but were not. "Who are these men that we fight? I have never seen the like of them before."

The captain followed his gaze. "The ones in the red are the Southrons, the rest are Variags and Easterlings, and from the looks of it the Dark Lord has even brought troll-men from Far Harad. He has spared no force to sack and plunder Gondor. They are fierce opponents, all. The battle today will be hard-won, my friend, have no doubt."

"What battle is not?" Tarkil wondered aloud.

"You have me there!" The captain from Lamedon pushed back through his men to start ordering his forces as they neared the quay at Harlond. Tarkil heard muttering amongst the ranks once the captain had fallen from sight.

"Look at what we face. Mûmakil. And trolls! It is a massacre we sail to," a soldier muttered behind him.

"We will fight them, otherwise they shall take over the whole land," Tarkil rebuked them. "Look at those men down there by the oars – do you see the welts on their backs? Would you want your sons to be marked like that? Or your wives and daughters sold into slavery and worse?"

Several of the soldiers around him reprimanded those few who muttered and spoke for the rest who nodded their heads. "We will fight. To the last man. Gondor will not fall to the Dark Lord while we stand."

Tarkil turned back to watch the flotilla of vessels around him, trying to determine who led each one. When they won the battle at Pelargir, Aragorn had assigned a ship to each Ranger; Tarkil drew one in the middle of the fleet carrying a contingent of men to help fight for Gondor once they arrived. They had worked late into the night loading supplies and soldiers from the villages under Angborn's charge before he allowed himself to collapse in a corner to sleep an untroubled sleep for the first time in a week.

He knew Halbarad and his sons accompanied Aragorn on the main ship, along with Gimli and Legolas. He spied Angrim just ahead and they exchanged a short nod. Gethron sailed a few ships back, Tarkil believed. But he could not see on which vessel Haldon sailed. His search through the fleet stopped when a banner on the lead ship unfurled, catching his eye as it glittered in the morning's sun. _The white tree with its seven stars and crown._ He watched as Halbarad carried it from the ship once they docked.

"The flag of Elendil" Tarkil breathed. "So that is what Halbarad carried with him!" _Father, it is coming true! You spoke so many times of wishing to see the crown replaced, and I know you said grandfather spoke of it also. Eru, give me strength to help Aragorn fulfill his destiny!_

But too soon his attention turned back to the battle when their ship bumped against the quay. Sailors threw ropes down to those who waited. Some soldiers drew their swords, while others loosed arrows into the orcs that charged in rage at seeing Elendil's flag being carried onto the field.

Battle-lust filled Tarkil at seeing the standard attacked. He hefted his sword and hurdled over the side of the ship to charge into the fray, slashing his way to the banner that shimmered across the field as a beacon of hope. The others stormed after him, swarming beside as they joined in the battle.

Black blood and red dripped from his sword as he worked his way north, grimly despatching opponents. Fierce foes they faced, just as the Captain of Lamedon had warned him. Strong men, battle-trained. These were no farmers gathered along the way, forced to fight for the Dark Lord. These were soldiers. Warriors who gave no quarter.

Tarkil saw a great orc lunge at a Ranger who battled a different foe, unaware of the danger behind him. Tarkil snatched his long knife and threw it, hearing a solid thunk as it pierced the neck of the Orc, felling him in his stride. The Ranger looked around in surprise; Tarkil saw Herudil nod in thanks, turning back quickly to slash his blade at yet at another enemy who pushed to attack Halbarad and the flag of Elendil.

The Dúnedain pressed hard against the enemy. A massive Orc arrow whistled past his ear; Tarkil heard the wet crunch of it hitting flesh then bone. He glanced behind him in time to see the banner falter and start to fall before other hands once again lifted it high. But the jeers and calls of nearby orcs confirmed his fears that the arrow had hit its target and when the throng briefly parted he saw Aragorn bending over Halbarad who lay upon the ground, the arrow piercing his throat. Herudil now held the banner high above the field, a fierce look on his face at the loss of his brother. A brief moment of anguish clenched Tarkil, quickly replaced by anger. The Rangers closed ranks even tighter about their captain and grew grim in their outraged determination. The orcs felt their wrath as the Dúnedain blades flashed in all directions, felling any who dared to come near.

Acrid smoke from the fires drifted over, stinging their eyes. Southrons and Haradrim challenged, unwilling to give up the fight as they grappled over the hillocks and beside the lonely ruins of farmsteads destroyed long ago. The Dúnedain found themselves driven apart to fight in smaller groups, until Tarkil found himself fighting alone.

His sword grew heavy in his hand; Tarkil grabbed respite where he could as the enemy gradually thinned.

Yet still he pressed on till the sun hung red over the mountains, matching the blood soaking into the fields at his feet. When it plunged behind the Mindolluin, Tarkil finally looked up to see the battle won, the fields around him seeming silent after the roar of the day's assault though the stench of death surrounded him. He tugged off his helm as he gazed back over the path he had hacked his way through to gain ground and found he stood far north of the river. A few tussocks of grass stuck out in a jarring green against the battle-churned mud. The fields were littered with corpses of men, Orc and Mûmakil that befouled the air and the earth.

"Glad to see you are walking still, Tarkil," he heard a voice rasp behind him.

"Gethron!" He wanted to smile at his friend as he glanced over his shoulder but stared in shock instead at the red blood covering him. "Are you hurt?

"Nay, it is not my blood, lad." Gethron stopped and heaved a great sigh. He wiped a hand over his face, trying to hold his emotions in check. "He fell, did you see?"

Tarkil grabbed the older Ranger's arm, a cold hand of fear clenching his heart. "Who? Who fell?"

"Halbarad. The standard he carried drove the Orcs and Easterlings mad; it drew them to him like bees to nectar." Gethron won his battle and the stern Ranger's mask slipped into its place, though Tarkil could see the grief linger in his eyes.

"I saw. I fought nearby but then the fighting grew so fierce I was separated from the rest. What of the Captain? What happened with him?" he finally dared to ask.

"He is unhurt – I saw him meet up with Rohan's prince and another knight dressed in blue and silver. They rode off north to the city just a few minutes ago." Gethron paused when he saw an orc attempting to move beneath a pile of bodies and removed that threat from the field as he stuck his blade through the snarling foe.

They trudged in silence through the fields, before Tarkil finally ventured. "Have you seen Haldon? Or the others? Do you know aught of them? Have you seen Angrim or Meglin?"

"Meglin, I saw. He will need a few stitches most likely, but he is well. Angrim and Haldon I have not seen. When we came off the boats, I lost track of who went where, lad."

"Same with me. Do you know which ship Haldon sailed on? That might give me an idea of where he fought."

Gethron shook his head, "Sorry, I did not see. Most likely, he will show up soon; it does no good to worry."

The rangers continued their slow trek, despatching those orcs that still breathed, bending over when they saw fallen comrades, checking to see if they lived, calling to healers and helping those that could walk back to the safety of the quays.

Exhausted, they finally arrived at the docks. Six of their comrades gathered around Halbarad's shroud-covered body, guarding it, scowling at any who dared to come near.

They nodded wearily to the Dúnedain, and sat beside Angrim on a pile of rubble, while they caught their breath.

"Angrim, what news is there?" Gethron asked. "Is any of it good?"

"We are still here. And Aragorn lives – he has headed to the city with Prince Imrahil and King Éomer. What better news can there be?" Angrim leaned his head against the remains of a pillar.

"Éomer is king? What happened?" The import of the words slowly penetrated the fog of exhaustion that filled Tarkil's head. "Théoden King fell? So much loss!" Tarkil looked about the wharf in search of his brother. "Have you seen Haldon?"

"No, I have not seen him for several hours now. A Mûmakil came charging through, and a fell beast attacked shortly after, scattering us. I have not seen him since." Angrim pulled a flask of miruvoir from a pouch on his belt and took a swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then waved his arm in the opposite direction from where Tarkil and Gethron had just travelled. "We were to the east of here at that point - that way."

This news worried Tarkil, so he set off in search of his brother, heading in the direction Angrim indicated, tossing the enemies' bodies off of the fallen, growing more desperate at each step he took. _Haldon, where are you? _He anxiously scanned the fields, hoping to see Haldon walk towards him, flashing his bright grin, with a quick remark about his little brother's lack of faith in his skills.

"Tarkil! Tarkil, they have found Haldon! They have brought him back to the quays," Gethron called across the plain.

Tarkil ran through the gloom towards the lanterns that now flickered at the edge of the river, jumping over bodies and debris in his desperation to get to his brother's side. _They have brought him back to the quays. _Which means he could not walk there himself. _Oh, Haldon, please do not be among the slain! _

He gasped to see his brother's still form lying on the ground, a healer bent over him.

Gethron grabbed Tarkil's shoulder and stopped him. "It is all right, lad. He is alive. He is unconscious right now, let the healer do his work."

"Captain?" Tarkil ventured late that night as Aragorn turned away to work on the next wounded man in the crowded sick room far above the battlefields.

He paused and looked back at the young Ranger, "Yes?"

_What can be said at a time such as this? What comfort can mere words offer?_

Tarkil hesitated, "I just wanted to say thank you for helping my brother … and I am sorry about Halbarad. I know you two … I am sorry we failed him." He shook his head in frustration as he stumbled over the words.

"No, you did not fail him, Tarkil." Aragorn sighed and rubbed his temples before looking back at the Ranger, "Look after your brother, make sure he rests tonight. And make sure you get some rest, too."

"Yes, Captain. Thank you again."

The fresh fragrance of the forests that both brothers loved to roam lingered in the room, remnants of the athelas leaves the Captain had crumbled into steaming water earlier. Tarkil breathed deeply, trying to ignore the acrid smoke and fetid odours of death that clung to him still from the field, finally feeling his spirits rise as he sat on the floor beside his brother's bed once more.

"'Kil?" he heard his brother murmur.

"I am here, Hal."

"Did we win?"

"Yes, Hal, we won. You get some sleep." Tarkil straightened the covers around his brother and settled back against the wall.

"I thought you would not want to leave him so I brought you a bedroll; you should try to get some sleep too." Herudil held out his pack. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Thank you." Tarkil tucked the pack beside his brother's bed. "Nothing is broken, just a few cuts, but apparently he took a nasty knock to the head." Tarkil paused. "I am sorry about your brother, sir."

"Halbarad died protecting Aragorn. I cannot think of another way he would have chosen. I think he knew he was doomed, though he would not tell me more than what he said at the mountain that day." Herudil glanced around the room. "I'm amazed there were not more of us hurt today."

"How are the rest of the company?" Tarkil asked. "I didn't see many by the docks – did anyone else fall?"

"No. Amazingly, most of the injuries are about the same as your brother here – a few bumps and cuts. For the most part we are fine. What do the healers say about when your brother should be able to return to duty?" Herudil sniffed the air. "Why does it smell like pine in here?"

"The Captain used athelas when he heard that Haldon had been near a Nazgûl. They will not be able to tell how soon he will be fit to return until he wakes up tomorrow. And it smells like maple to me, sir." Tarkil grinned.

"Athelas, eh? That explains the scent – the great pine stands around Rivendell it always smells like to me. It smells like maple to you?"

Tarkil chuckled. "A maple forest surrounds my family's village – my father taught me a lot of my tracking skills there. I guess we are both woodsmen then. I have heard people talk of smelling fresh fields and flowers, and others of the sea. But for me, whenever I smell athelas, I am always back home in the forest."

"Well, I am going to head back down – we are setting up tents on the fields outside the city." The commander laid a hand on Tarkil's shoulder. "You get some rest, you need it too."

"Thanks for bringing the bedroll, sir." He rolled out his pack to lie down, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the stain on the ceiling, finally falling into a deep sleep himself.

Tarkil left Haldon in the Houses of Healing the next morning and returned to the fields to find the grim-faced Dúnedain still closely guarding their commander's body. Tarkil expressed his and Haldon's condolences to Halbarad's sons, Anardil and Ciridon, and then returned to find the rest of their company.

Between the captains of Gondor and Rohan, an agreement had been made to create a mound by the city walls where their dead would lie side by side in equal honour. The Grey Company offered to help by taking turns preparing the earth, their grey cloaks blending amongst the green of the Rohan guard and black and silver of the Gondor Tower guard, as they laboured to create a burial spot worthy of the fallen.

Once their Captain had finally returned from his meetings, the Rangers assembled while Aragorn met privately with Halbarad's sons and brother. When they emerged from their seclusion, Aragorn, Herudil, Anardil and Ciridon lifted the pallet bearing Halbarad's body and, surprising the dour-faced Grey Company, carried him to the gates of the great city where Imrahil and his Swan Knights stood waiting to escort them. Up through the great stone circles they solemnly marched. A rank of Tower Guards joined them as they marched across the citadel to Fen Hollin where Tarkil noticed a dark patch at its doorway. _Had the fighting reached even to this level? _Tarkil wondered._ For surely that is a bloodstain._

"Rath Dinen this is called," Aragorn quietly told them as they walked down the stairs to the silent street. The great King's Hall stood at the end of the path, and on their left stood another, its roof collapsed and charred. "The house of the Stewards, sad is its state thanks to the Dark Lord's manipulations," Tarkil heard Aragorn quietly say before he turned right and led them to another building where he paused beneath its vaulted ceiling. "This hall is set aside for the King's kin. Here shall Halbarad rest for though I do not claim my crown yet, he is also a descendent of Elendil and rightfully does he belong here, as Prince Imrahil has agreed. And though I know he would be equally happy to be amongst the fallen in the mounds by the city gates, I wish for him to be properly honoured for the sacrifice he made in coming to Gondor's aid."

Elrohir and Elladan sang a quiet lament as the Grey Company bid their comrade a final farewell. They journeyed back through the circles in silence to find the burials preparing to start on the fields below. The ceremonies lasted long into the night as the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan carefully placed body after body in the mound and lamented each man till finally all the soldiers stood at attention while Mithrandir blessed the burial spot.

Heavy-hearted they were when Aragorn called them to pause, gathering them close as he finally announced the decisions reached in his meetings that day.

"My friends, you battled bravely yesterday upon the fields in defence of Minas Tirith, as you did at Pelargir and on our journey to the south. In two days, we must ride out for the Black Gate where I shall call Sauron to come forth and we shall battle all his forces. I would ask for your help one more time for we need to draw his eye to the north." Tarkil exchanged a glance with Gethron as they remembered the rumours that had circulated amongst them about the hobbit's quest.

"It is a foul, barren land that will take us seven days to reach, and we know not where we might face his armies -- for surely he will attempt to divert us from our path. And once we arrive at the Morannon, Southron and Easterlings, Orcs and trolls will face us in countless numbers. I know you are exhausted from your battles and journeys but we stand at the edge of the abyss and we shall surely topple into it if we do not continue in our resolve. Sauron must be defeated and though you are only thirty men, you are my kin, and I know of your steadfastness and your indomitable courage that has allowed our people to guard the land for so many years. I know you worry about your families since the defences around your villages have been weakened much in the past months. Should any of you wish to return to your homes in the north, you are free to do so for there is a need for battle-trained men to fight in defence of our people. Do not answer me tonight, but think on it, making your decision firm in your mind, and tell Herudil in the morning of your final destination. I am appointing him to be Halbarad's replacement while you are here in Gondor. And whether you accompany me or no, I shall think no less of you. I am proud of you all for what you have accomplished while fighting at my side."

Few men discussed what their Captain had said that night; all resolving to continue to ride at Aragorn's side in his defence -- save for one pair high above the fields in the Houses of Healing. They argued late into the night before the eldest brother finally threw up his hands in frustration at his brother's stubborn nature for refusing to return home and both men spent a sleepless night staring up at the stain on the ceiling.

&-&

"How is he doing?" Herudil put a hand on Haldon's shoulder, rousing him from the nap he took at his brother's side. "I did not realize you had left the celebrations until a little while ago when Elrohir told us what happened -- King Elessar asked after him too."

"He is sleeping now. He overdid things - as usual for him." Haldon frowned. "He thinks people will call him weak if he does not push himself."

"Yes, I watched him last autumn after a battle with orcs. Gethron said the same thing at that time. He is the youngest of your family, is he not? At least the youngest boy, if I remember what you mentioned before." Haldon nodded. "That is usual – they keep comparing themselves to you older brothers, trying to measure up. And usually you older fellows taunt them a bit too. I know I see it in my boys back home." Herudil pulled up a chair and uncorked a flask offering it to Haldon. "Here -- I have a few drops of miruvoir left. No use letting it go to waste."

Haldon nodded and took the flask. He took a swig and passed it back to Halbarad's brother. "Yes, he is the youngest of five boys. Celepharn was already out on patrol by the time 'Kil was five, so they were not very close. But Mallor and I, yes, I suppose we did tease 'Kil a bit. Him and Valandur both."

"Go back to our quarters, Haldon, get some sleep. I will sit with him for a while and make sure he is all right."

"No, I think I will stay here – at least until he wakes up."

The commander stood, "Suit yourself, but once he is awake, I want you to report back and grab some sleep. No use working yourself up till you are sick and lying in bed beside him."

Haldon grinned wryly, "Yes, sir, besides 'Kil is right, the healers and the help here are not the pretty faces I prefer to wake up beside. I cannot say I would want to wake up to old Ioreth's face in the morning."

* * *

**Notes:**

Re the discussion between Gethron and Tarkil about what ships they arrived on: The Last Debate – ROTK: And then to each of the great ships that remained Aragorn sent one of the Dúnedain, and they comforted the captives that were aboard, and bade them put aside fear and be free.

Battle of the Pelennor Fields – ROTK: "For now men leaped from the ships to the quays of the Harlond and swept north like a storm. There came Legolas, and Gimli wielding his axe, and Halbarad with the standard, and Elladan and Elrohir with stars on their brow, and the dour-handed Dúnedain, Rangers of the North, leading a great valour of the folk of Lebennin and Lamedon and the fiefs of the South.


	6. A Matter of Perspective

**A Matter of Perspective**

The healer's assistant ushered the visiting Rangers out the door, closing it firmly behind them.

Gethron chuckled, "That woman Ioreth has quite the sharp tongue on her – she even shut down Haldon, his charms did not work on her at all!"

"I have to say I do not see that much – Mother managed it only a few times." Tarkil settled back onto his bed. He grimaced as he sipped the willow-bark tea he had been ordered to finish.

"I overheard Haldon mention that Bree barmaid again. Is it true you plan on asking her to marry you, Tarkil?" Angrim asked.

"Aw, do not start that again," Gethron complained. "Give the lad a break! After what we have been through, let them be happy together."

"You of all people should be encouraging him to marry a Dúnadan woman, not a Breelander. Do you realize what that means, Tarkil? It means you will watch her age before you; that she will die forty or fifty years before you. _And _your children – you doom them to a shorter life, too. You have good blood, son, you are related to the King of the United Realm – there would be plenty of our own women who would desire such an alliance. You should not fall into this Bree woman's traps – marry a woman of the Dúnedain."

"You mean, like Titheniel?" Tarkil snapped at his kin. "I loved her and look what that got me. I left on patrol and came back to find she had invited another man to her bed. Besides, I do not seek an 'alliance.' Haldon can still marry and continue our line."

Angrim snorted. "Haldon does not look to be settling down any time soon. And I take offence to you shoving your responsibilities onto your brother. You are a Ranger and a Dúnadan – you have a responsibility to your people, not just your family."

"Angrim, you are a sour old fool," Gethron argued. "The lad has just been through some of the worst battles either one of us has ever seen – indeed the worst of the age. The King has his crown; the realm is restored. Let him ask Poppi to be his wife." He turned to Tarkil. "I say forget her father. Walk into that house and ask Poppi to marry you; if she says yes, sweep her off her feet and get the mayor or whoever the Bree people use to perform the oaths and get married that day. You asked her father's permission before you left – he has had ample time to get used to the idea."

"Sweep her off her feet? And you call _me_ a fool? Gethron, you have had too many pain potions – or perhaps not enough," Angrim spat back. "That woman will have children that will marry into our line and weaken my family's blood, and all the Dúnedain's. And soon we shall be no different, no stronger, than the Breelanders." He turned back to Tarkil. "We have fought too hard for the realm, too much blood has been spilled for you to water it down by taking that barmaid as your wife."

"If Melian had taken a similar view, where would Aragorn be now?" came a quiet voice by the door. The three men looked up, surprised to see that Elladan and Elrohir stood on the threshold, listening. "If Melian had not taken Elu Thingol as spouse, there would have been no Luthien. If Luthien had not married Beren, there would be no Elwing, no Elros, no Aragorn."

Angrim spluttered briefly before his head rose in response to the challenge. "Where would the realm be today if Gilraen had married a Breelander – we would have no king. And look at what happened when Valacar married Vidumavi – he plunged the realm into the kin-strife and civil war."

Elrohir nodded his head. "Yes but I doubt Tarkil's children could cause such strife. For while he is distantly related to our brother, his line is far removed from the White Throne. Do you say love does not count as a good reason for marriage?"

"He can find love amongst his own kind!" Angrim argued.

"Would you say that to our brother? Tell him to spurn our sister for one of his own kind?" Elrohir quietly asked.

"Would you argue with my sister that she thins _our_ blood by marrying Elessar?" Elladan added.

"That is not what I said, my lords. I would not presume to suggest such a thing," Angrim blustered.

"So the marriage plans between Elessar and Arwen are acceptable to you? You would not argue against the mixing of two bloods at that match? For even though our sister has human blood flowing through her veins as do we, she has the choice to be elf-kind. And by marrying a mortal, she chooses a mortal life for herself and her children. Could it not be argued that she 'thins' the blood of our line?" Elladan perched casually on the end of Angrim's bed. "Should that not be unacceptable to elven eyes? Should we not argue that her marriage to Elessar should be stopped for the same reasons you give Tarkil about marrying this Bree maid? Even though _that_ is a match between two _mortals_?"

Angrim's jaw briefly hung suspended in mid-air then snapped shut while he considered the Peredhel's words, finding no argument worthy to be voiced.

"We came to say farewell for a while," Elrohir announced, ending the discussion. "We head out tomorrow with the Rohirrim and wished to ensure that you were well before we left. Is there word that you wish sent to your families? Messages can be sent to your settlements should you choose. Tarkil, Haldon has written a short letter to your brother. He has not told them you were wounded; he felt it would worry them too much. But he suggested that you should add a line or two."

Tarkil took the parchment Elrohir held out and neatly penned a few lines at the bottom, assuring his family all was well with both brothers. As he handed it back he wondered, _Should I ask if they could send a note to Poppi? Would the elves want to travel to Southlinch? _

"You look confused," Elladan noted. "What troubles you?"

"I … I was wondering if you could send a note to Poppi for me." Tarkil ignored Angrim's disgusted snort. "But she lives in Southlinch near Bree, not in the Angle where my family lives, and it might be too much to ask of your messengers."

"Gildor and his people pass through Bree often enough on their journeys between Rivendell and the Havens, I am sure they could arrange to have a messenger sent to her home. If you could provide them with directions, it should arrive safely," Elladan said, holding out an extra sheet of parchment.

Tarkil took longer to compose this message, carefully drying the ink before folding the letter. He took a second parchment and drew a map to her home. "She never believes me when I talk of elves; to have one arrive on her doorstep might make her faint dead away." He grinned as he handed both sheets back to Elladan.

"I shall tell them to be careful not to scare her," Elrohir grinned back. "We will see you again shortly, my friends. Hopefully you shall all be up and about by the time we return."

"What did you write to her, lad?" Gethron asked once the Peredhil left. "Did you ask her to marry you?"

Tarkil just smiled and lay back, pulling the covers about him as he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, the willow bark tea finally taking effect.

&-&

Tarkil stepped from the Houses of Healing and breathed deeply, glad to be away from the lingering odours and groans and snores of the patients still recovering from the battles.

"Remember your promise now, 'Kil." Haldon warned as they approached the arched tunnel that led to the Citadel. "No practicing with your sword yet, no horse-riding; nothing that will strain you."

"Yes, Naneth. And may I remind you your worries are for nought as I have neither a sword nor a horse." Tarkil replied then sighed in resignation.

They emerged from the lamp-lit tunnel to find a sea of activity in the Court of the Fountain. Tower Guards, Dúnedain, Swan Knights, even Legolas and Samwise all busily worked around the ancient White Tree while Mithrandir and Aragorn stood nearby. Tarkil and Haldon watched the bustle until they saw the Tower guard carefully remove the withered old Tree from its place of honour.

They moved forward to see what would be done with it, even more curious as to what would replace the ancient tree of Nimloth. The Tower Guard hefted its hulk upon their shoulders and reverently carried it through Fen Hollen to the silent street below, treating it as gently as any fallen soldier's body. Both brothers gasped when they saw Aragorn kneel at the hole left by the tree and plant a three-foot high sapling in its place. He smiled and talked with Samwise Gamgee who tenderly patted the soil around its roots while Legolas stroked the sapling's branches and softly spoke to it as if urging it to take root and flourish.

His task completed, the King stood and Tarkil and Haldon pushed closer, staring in amazement to see the single white flower upon the tiny tree, its white petals glistening as bright as any crown. When a light breeze eddied across the Citadel, the leaves danced in the wind, the silver undersides of the leaves sparkling in sharp relief against the dark green on their top.

As news spread throughout the Citadel, soldiers and workers from the King's house poured onto the green to view the miracle of the new White Tree, the symbol of ancient Númenor and descendant of the trees of distant Valinor.

Though the remaining days of June passed swiftly, the Dúnedain of the North became restless within the city. Those who had horses found themselves taking long rides across the Pelennor but Tarkil had to watch them ride to their freedom across the green fields while he stood behind the stone walls. He was wandering aimlessly through the lower circles with Meglin and the others who didn't have mounts when a buzz went through the city. The Dúnedain hurried up to the Citadel, staring out across the fields where they saw Elladan and Elrohir leading the fair folk of Rivendell and Lothlorien towards the gates. They stood back as Aragorn and the hobbits pushed to the walls to gaze out upon the wondrous site then followed as they hurried to the main gate.

Tarkil noticed a change fill his king, a warmth that flowed from his eyes and his being, as he greeted the riders, and that warmth seemed to flow over the city when he took Arwen's hand and led her into the great city.

&-&

Harp and viol filled Merethrond with joyous music as the people of Gondor celebrated their king's marriage and welcomed their new queen. Ladies of Gondor, gowned in their finest, dazzling as jewels long put away were dusted off and shined for the night's festivities, accompanied black and silver-bedecked lords. Swan Knights in their resplendent blue and white uniforms mingled amongst them.

Twenty-eight Dúnedain rangers, clad in their new grey and silver uniforms, clustered at the tables along the side of the hall quaffing their ale. Quiet chuckles could be heard by any who walked near as the Rangers amused themselves by watching the one member of their company who dared attempt the intricate patterns of the dance in the centre of the hall.

"He is a courtly dancer." Gethron chuckled as Haldon bowed to his partner. "The lady seems to be taken with him."

"Miriel? Yes, he has courted her a few times now." Tarkil smiled. "How are you doing, old man? It is good to see you up and about finally."

"My hip still twinges a bit, and the healers tell me I will be able to foretell the weather, but at least I am out of my sick bed. Angrim is becoming quite proficient with his crutches so they are going to release him in a few days, too. I think it is more because he is driving them mad with his constant complaining of feeling trapped inside these walls."

"I understand – none of us are used to being in a city such as this. I miss the fields and the forests back home. And my brother will not even let me ride yet; even though the healers have said I should start doing more." Tarkil sipped his ale as he sat back enjoying the festivities, grinning at the wide-eyed stares of the Gondorian ladies as three elven maids glided by. "I am feeling so cooped up surrounded by all this stone, Gethron. Have you heard when we are to be leaving?"

"Herudil said that we wait for King Éomer to return for King Théoden's body so it might be a few weeks yet." Gethron chuckled as he watched two young ladies sashay past them, eyeing his younger companion. "That's the second time they've gone by, and each time she has smiled at you. I think she fancies you, Tarkil. Why do you not ask her to dance?"

Tarkil smiled politely to the lady but shook his head, raising an eyebrow as she tossed her hair and flounced away. "I shall not dance tonight. There is only one maid I wish to dance with and she is not here."

"You _are _in love! I guess you will be having your own wedding once we return – though I doubt we will be able to throw one as lavish as this." Gethron drained his tankard and pointed to the elves on the opposite side of the hall, "Can you imagine having the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood as your kin? Talk about intimidating – the poor Captain. Master Elrond as your wife's father would be frightening enough."

"I cannot imagine. Henry is hard enough on me." Tarkil scowled into his tankard. "And we are not married, only courting."

"Well, you are courting his youngest daughter. He probably remembers what he was like at your age and courting his wife – and given what he saw of Haldon's behaviour the night of the attack on their farm, he probably suspects you are just as bad." Gethron grabbed another ale from a passing servant's tray, missing Tarkil's averted gaze when he remembered what Henry had seen Poppi and him doing later that night in the parlour. "Just what did he ask that night, anyway?"

"He asked me how I planned to support her, how old I was, where we would live, the usual questions I suppose." Tarkil sighed. "He was not happy to hear I planned to take her to live in our village. And you should have seen the look he gave me when I told him my age -- he must have thought I am still too young."

"How old is Poppi anyway? She looks about the right age to marry. Her sister looked only a few years older, and she is married with a babe already. What _were_ his objections? Other than taking her from his home, I mean." Gethron chuckled as he pointed to Haldon. "Looks like the lady who eyed you has caught your brother's eye now, but it does not look like his healer friend is too happy about it."

Tarkil smiled and shook his head as he saw Haldon grinning brightly at his new dance partner while Miriel pouted at the side, her arms folded, a frown creasing her brow. "I do not know what it is about him, but he does have a way of attracting the ladies. It has been like that as long as I can remember, though it seems he has played up on it more these last few years." He watched Haldon a few moments more and shook his head. "But he asked Miriel to accompany him, so I take it she believed he would dance only with her. I reckon he is going to have a few sharp words spoken to him before the night's end."

"A tankard of ale that he talks his way out of it," Gethron wagered.

"No bet, old man. I have seen him play this game before – he will soothe the ruffled feathers." Tarkil stood and stretched. "I am going to walk for a bit to get some fresh air then head to bed. I will see you in the morning."

He did not manage to get through the throng before he found his arm taken. When he turned in surprised he saw Miriel attempting to drag him towards the dance floor. "My lady, I do not wish to dance this night."

"Then at least talk with me, please." The healer released his arm and looked at him, confusion in her eyes. "During our walks over the past few weeks, your brother told me that he is related to the king. Does he speak true?"

"Yes, my lady, it is true through our relationship is distant and confusing. Our mother's mother is the King's mother's cousin and our father is a direct descendant of the sixth king of Arnor's youngest son. So though we are not in line for the throne should Elessar be slain, we are related. Indeed many of the Grey Company can claim similar kinship."

"Oh. I had hoped that perhaps the lady Lothiriel might just be attempting to make one of her suitors jealous by dancing with him tonight." The music ended and they watched as Haldon bowed before the lady and escorted her back to her chaperone, lifting two glasses of wine from a servant's tray to hand her one as she laughed at some joke he must have told. Miriel heaved a sigh. "I suppose he might be acceptable to her father as a suitor after all. Your brother is so very handsome and charming, I can understand her desire to have him as a dance partner."

"I doubt my brother would attempt to court the lady, Miriel. Perhaps now would be a good chance to reclaim him as a partner for it looks that he is alone at the moment." Tarkil stopped himself from smirking in amusement as she gasped and hurried from his side. He pushed his way back to the door and hurried from the hall to stand by the battlements overlooking the city, his eyes focussed on the black patch of land that stood out in stark relief against the green surrounding it, marking where the fell beast of the Witch King had fallen. _Is Poppi safe even though no Rangers patrol her land?_ The southerners who attacked her farm are no longer a problem, but what of the others that swarmed that land? One in Bree certainly had an Orkish look to him. Tarkil shivered in the warm summer air as he remembered the farms around Linhir and the brutal atrocities the Corsairs had repeated in farmhouse after farmhouse. Since he had come south and no Rangers were left to protect that land, had something similar happened in Bree? He had heard the Ringbearer named Sam talk about looking into the lady Galadriel's mirror and what he'd seen happening in the Shire. If the Shire is in danger, surely Bree cannot be any safer. _I should have stayed. Y_et a part of his brain knew that even if he had stayed in the North he would not have been able to protect her – he had originally been ordered to guard between the High Pass and Rivendell, hundreds of miles from Southlinch. The question kept swirling around in his head, _is Poppi safe?_

"I thought you were heading off to bed, lad." Gethron lit his pipe as he approached Tarkil. The Gondor musicians gave way to the elven minstrels in the great hall behind them.

"I _was_ heading to bed," Tarkil sighed and leaned back against the parapet to face the older Ranger. "But then I started thinking about that farmhouse in Linhir and wondering if Poppi is safe – Bree was still full of southerners when we left."

Gethron grimaced, "That is not a pleasant memory to have on such a joyful occasion as today. And I do not mean to sound cruel, but it does no good to worry about Poppi now, lad. You will not know until we get home, whenever that will be. Just enjoy tonight, do not worry about yesterday or tomorrow. Aragorn finally married his lady Arwen, and the realm has a queen once again."

Tarkil watched as revellers from the wedding spilled out from the hall onto the green. "But was it such a joyful occasion for the Queen's father and brothers to watch? Did you see the look on Lord Elrond's face when he placed her hand in Aragorn's last night upon their arrival? Surely, they cannot be as happy … and it must weigh heavily upon the King as well, to know someone you love is giving up immortality to such a doom as we face. Could you deliver your kin to such a fate, or ask such a sacrifice of someone you love?"

"Tarkil lad, you realize if you marry Poppi, you face a similar fate?" Gethron quietly asked his friend who looked at him in confusion. "Angrim was right - you shall watch Poppi age before your eyes. Breelanders live a much shorter life, lad. If she sees her eightieth year, she will have outlived most of her kind. And you will still be in your prime at that age."

"I thought you were the one encouraging me to marry her, old man! Was that not you defending my choice last month?" Tarkil scowled. "Are you telling me now I should walk away from her?"

"No, that is not what I said. I just want you to be aware of what you face in loving Poppi." Gethron watched the elves perform a graceful dance about the newly planted sapling before speaking again. "I made a similar choice, lad, and it is difficult to watch someone you love fade away when you are still strong. I know you love Poppi, but I want you to go back to her with your eyes open."

"What do you mean you made a similar choice?" Tarkil turned away from the festivities to watch Gethron. "I have wondered about something Angrim said during that argument – he made that comment that you of all people should be encouraging me to marry a Dúnadan? What exactly did he mean by that, Gethron?"

"My wife came from Fornost – she was not Dúnadan either." Gethron sighed. "Her father trapped furs and traded with us for supplies we could bring them from the south – I patrolled the area where they had their trap lines when she first caught my eye."

"I have always wondered at the animosity between you and Angrim." Tarkil said. He frowned as he considered Gethron's phrasing. "_Came_ from, _was?_ You speak in the past tense, old man. I thought you were married still."

Gethron nodded and turned away, his voice gruff. "I _am_ still married, lad; she has been dead fifteen years now, but she is still my wife in my heart. There has not been another since who could replace her." He heaved a great sigh and turned back to face the young Ranger. "You are going to have to face that if you marry Poppi."

The two men stood silently watching the festivities as the joy of the King's marriage spilled down through the levels below. The smoke from Gethron's pipe wreathed him before the gentle summer breeze brushed it away.

"Why today, Gethron, why now? You have known I love Poppi since the Yule, six months have passed; why do you tell me this today?" Tarkil finally broke the silence between them.

"Because we married on this same day forty-five years ago; it would have been our anniversary today."

"She died fifteen years ago, you said," Tarkil whispered as Gethron's words finally sank in. "You were married for only thirty years?"

"Life is harsh in Fornost, lad. She celebrated her thirty-first birthday three days before we took our oaths and that is old for a Fornost woman to marry." He puffed on his pipe a while longer before answering Tarkil's unvoiced question. "I came home from patrol that last winter to find she had caught an ague and died a few weeks after I had left. But I doubt she had many years left anyway, perhaps ten at the most." Gethron heaved another sigh. "This talk is too morbid for the King's wedding day, lad. Let's go see how Haldon is faring with those two ladies of his."

"He is onto a third now," Tarkil half-heartedly chuckled as he pointed at the doors to the hall. "He just came out the door with another on his arm, see?"

"That boy!" Gethron snorted. "He is a bee in a field of flowers, loves each one but cannot decide which one he likes best so he flits from flower to flower sampling them all. He is a lot like your Uncle Barahir, you know."

"Haldon enjoys their company, but he is not as casual with his affairs as he would have you believe. I have never known him to pursue a married woman or one spoken for by another man. He did not press his suit with Poppi once he knew of our courtship. Nor would he would mistreat a lady, despite their fathers' claims." Tarkil followed Gethron as they walked to their quarters. "I did not realize you knew my Uncle."

"We served a couple of patrols together – before your grandfather died and he became the Chieftain of their village. And I did not realize he was your uncle until a few weeks ago when I heard Haldon speak of him." Gethron tapped the ashes out of his pipe. "By the way, do you know who that lady was that your brother danced with earlier tonight, lad? She looked as if she belonged in very high circles of the court from the curtseys and bows the nobles gave her."

"Miriel said that was Prince Imrahil's daughter, Lothiriel. I would wager Haldon behaved himself with her. He would not chance having to face the Prince's wrath." Tarkil looked over to see his brother walking across the Court of the Fountain, arm and arm with the newest lady, an older stern-faced woman in tow. "Come on, old man, I need to get some sleep. I hear this party may go on for days." Tarkil turned his back on the celebrations and closed the quarter doors firmly behind him.


	7. The Hall of the Kings

Tarkil and Haldon returned to their quarters after finishing their breakfast in the mess hall. As they passed his private quarters, Herudil called out, "Tarkil, change into the uniform you wore for the coronation and report back to me. Your presence has been requested."

Haldon raised an eyebrow as they turned into the company's quarters. "What have you done this time, little brother?"

Tarkil shrugged and went to his cot to change, taking extra care with his appearance, wondering who had requested his presence and why he needed to be dressed in such finery. The stiff embroidery on the collar chaffed and he ran a finger around the neckline. He felt conspicuous in such finery, conscious of the silver threads gleaming where he preferred to blend into the shadows. He walked across to Herudil's room only to have to wait while the commander finished with the burdens of his command.

Herudil glanced up to see Tarkil leaning against the wall, fiddling with the hilt of his broken sword. "Take that off. You will not need a sword where we are going."

Tarkil sighed and removed the scabbard from his belt, returning to their quarters to place it on his cot before Herudil gestured for him to follow. They strode across the Citadel, and Tarkil's worry burgeoned when the Commander led him into the great Hall of the Kings. Herudil bade him to stand to the side as he disappeared into the crowd leaving Tarkil to listen to farmers dispute over cropland and grazing rights, and watch petitions be presented to Aragorn. _Elessar,_ Tarkil reminded himself, relaxing slightly as he watched his kin pronounce judgements and preside over the court. Indeed, the King who sat on the throne carried himself differently than the Ranger from the North who had helped train him on occasion. Strider had disappeared. Even Aragorn was gone. In his place, sat a stern King, wise and majestic. The Dunedain noticed the change begin on the trip down to the Pelargir as the layers of the rough Ranger of the North peeled away revealing his benevolent and noble manner; when he stood before them on the Pelennor fields no trace of Strider could be seen, Aragorn stood before them with the proud bearing of the ancient kings of Númenor. To see Elessar upon his throne sent a thrill of pride through the Ranger whose family had fought for a thousand years to see their kin crowned.

The day dragged on as morning turned into afternoon; Tarkil shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rolled his shoulders to stop the ache in his back. His stomach growled, reminding him of his missed lunch, all the while he wondered why he had been summoned to stand in the hall. He took more interest in the attempts of a heavy-bodied fly that buzzed about the columns and repeatedly bounced into a window high above in its attempt to escape than in the men presenting petitions for two villages that fought over fishing rights to the same stretch of the Anduin.

The bright summer rays of the afternoon sun slanted through the windows high in the wall before Herudil returned to stand by him, but when Tarkil attempted to question the reason for his presence, Herudil bid him to be patient and wait. So he waited. Tarkil started when an aide called out his name and commanded him to stand in front of the King.

"Go on, lad. The king summons you." Herudil put a hand to the ranger's back, propelling him to move. Tarkil walked towards the White Throne, hearing his footsteps echo against the pillars and high arched roof. He bowed low to his king, aware of all the eyes of the court on him, and the whispers of the nobles who surrounded him.

When he straightened from his bow and stood at attention, he saw Aragorn's eyes sweep down his uniform, settling upon his swordless belt. When the king's eyes lifted to meet his, Tarkil thought he detected a strange glint of amusement in them.

"I understand you lost your sword at the Black Gate and now you have none to defend your king," Elessar pronounced sternly from his throne. "An unarmed ranger, while still offering a great deal of skill, is one who is severely hindered in their efforts to defend me, would you not agree?"

"Yes, my lord Elessar," Tarkil said, now feeling naked without his blade, wondering if he was about to be dismissed from his oath. He heard a movement behind him but did not dare remove his gaze from his king.

Elrohir and Elladan strode past him, gracefully mounting the steps till they stood on the dais beside the king and, giving an elegant bow, presented a sword in a finely wrought scabbard to the King who stood to receive it. With another bow to their foster-brother, the twins left the dais to stand on either side of the bewildered Ranger.

Elessar removed the sword from its scabbard and swung it lightly; it sang as it soared through the air. Resheathing the sword, he gestured to Tarkil to stand on the dais in front of him.

Overwhelmed, Tarkil walked up the stairs and stood at attention in front of his king. "This sword is Aranaur. The mirdain of Lindon forged it for a Captain of Eärnur. It fought in the great battle against the Witch King in Angmar and in many battles in defence of Gondor since. May it serve you well, Tarkil son of Beleg. You have earned it in your loyal protection of your king and your land." Aragorn held out the scabbard and sword to Tarkil who could not mask the astonishment he felt.

Tarkil looked at Aragorn as he accepted the gift, seeing the compassion and strength he had revered when he swore his oath to him as a Ranger twenty years before. Overcome by the moment, he knelt and offered up his sword. "My lord Elessar, when I joined the Rangers I offered you my sword in protection of the Realm of the North. I offer it now with my oath of fealty to the King of the United Realm. I swear to serve you with steadfast loyalty and honour in peace or war. May my courage and strength protect the weak. May my sword defend all in your realm against your foes and deliver justice against wrongdoers according to your laws. My heart, mind and body are yours to command until my lord release me, death takes me or the world ends. So say I, Tarkil son of Beleg of the Dúnedain of the United Realm."

Aragorn returned Tarkil's new sword once more, smiling as he looked down at the young ranger. "And once again I hear your fealty, this time as Aragorn Elessar, King of the United Realm, and I accept your oath nor shall I forget it. I give you my oath in return – to reward you with abundance, fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with banishment. Till death take you or I release you or the world ends. Stand, my young kin."

Tarkil grasped his sword and stood, bowing once more to Aragorn before turning to walk down the stairs. He paused in amazement for in the middle of the hall the Grey Company stood at attention, all resplendently arrayed in their new uniforms. He took his position amongst them. The company saluted their king and smartly turned on their heel, the arches echoing with the cadence of their exit.

The Grey Company marched across the Citadel till they reached their quarters. Falling out of formation the men offered Tarkil their congratulations.

"Had to do everyone one better, Tarkil. Just like you!" Haldon grinned but he pulled his brother into a hug and slapped him on the back. "It surprised me to see you kneel down and offer your oath like that. "

Still in shock, Tarkil's fingers fumbled as he attempted to fasten the new scabbard to his belt. "I just …" Words failed him and Haldon laughed to see his brother speechless.

"Get changed; we are taking you to the tavern down on the first level to celebrate." Haldon hurriedly changed and joked with Theron and Meglin as Tarkil fiddled with his uniform waiting for the others to leave. In exasperation, Haldon chided his brother for dawdling and said they would meet Tarkil at the tavern.

Gradually the quarters emptied until Tarkil found himself alone in the company's quarters and sagged onto his cot, staring at the silver etchings on the scabbard of his new sword.

"What troubles you, Tarkil?" Herudil asked from the door.

"I do not understand this. I did nothing more than any of the others; I simply did my duty. Why was I honoured with so fine a sword?" He finally voiced the question that plagued him. He fingered the silver pommel, then wrapped his fingers about the hilt and removed a small portion of the blade to see an elven inscription traced into its length.

"You missed much while you were in the Houses of Healing, Tarkil. All the other Rangers had to endure this 'punishment', too." Herudil chuckled. He walked over and sat on the cot opposite the bewildered ranger. "As for what you did to deserve it - the King is aware of your actions before the Black Gates; he knows how you saved him from being pierced by an Orc's arrow that day. He simply wished to thank you, Tarkil, and knowing your sword had been shattered, replaced it as a king may choose to do for a knight who has proven himself in battle."

"But surely a much plainer one would have done," Tarkil said.

"This was not the only sword handed out but as for why _this_ one was chosen for you – Elladan and Elrohir chose it. They noticed it hanging on a wall in the King's study. It is a kin to the one Haldon carries that was forged for that same fight against the Witch King. So when Elessar mentioned he wished to have one commissioned to replace yours, they suggested he give you that particular one." Herudil saw Tarkil's bewildered look stayed on his face and patiently explained. "That sword serves as their thanks for saving Aragorn from that arrow. Do you remember the twins questioning your ability to fight when you joined the Grey Company? I will say it for them, since they are not good at apologizing but they had to admit you have proven yourself worthy innumerable times and this is one way they had to thank you."

Tarkil remembered that week all too clearly. It had begun as soon as he and his brother had joined the company at Tharbad after saying farewell to Poppi. Borgil, the man who had given him such grief the fall before, had stared at Tarkil and immediately approached the commander.

"You should not allow him to accompany us, Halbarad." Borgil argued. "He is too inexperienced, even his brother! They should both be sent back."

Tarkil and Haldon exchanged a glance, as Elladan and Elrohir turned to stare at them. Haldon had been told of the tension between his brother and the former commander and scowled to be caught within its net.

At the next brief stop to rest their horses, Elrohir approached the brothers insisting on inspecting their swords, spears and bows. He unsheathed Arathand, Haldon's sword. "I remember this blade – it was made by a smith in Lindon before the fall of Angmar. It has been well cared for and should serve you well." When he looked over Tarkil's sword, Berior, he declared it to be adequate.

While his twin inspected the two Dúnedain brothers, Elladan approached Halbarad. "These two are children. And the youngest one we know – he has a temper, he attacked this man by putting a knife to his throat last year. If he fails to control himself, he may put us all in jeopardy."

Tarkil noticed a satisfied smirk appear on Borgil's face as the Peredhil took up his cause. Tarkil felt sure Halbarad would order him to return to Rivendell and steeled himself to argue for his continuation with the Grey Company until he heard Halbarad calmly reply, "Both Haldon and Tarkil are proven in battle, and both volunteered to fight with us. I am satisfied with their abilities, my lords, despite their youth."

The twins then insisted on testing their skill with both blade and bow. The brothers panted with exhaustion by the time the twins declared them 'acceptable'.

Tarkil and Haldon noticed that Halbarad scowled as he pulled the Peredhil aside. They tried not to eavesdrop but their commander's deep voice carried across to them. "I will not have you injuring my men before we get to Aragorn's side. We need each and every one of them – your own words, may I remind you, my lords. In Aragorn's absence, I am their captain, not you. I told you they are ready to fight, and yet you question them. And in questioning them, you question me. I appreciate you have thousands of years of experience, but do not question my authority in front of my men."

The twins demurred to him and as they rode hard once more, Elrohir pulled his horse alongside. "Tarkil, when we have breaks, I shall instruct you on how to improve your stance and your form. Your blade work will be fine against Easterlings and Southrons, but there are ways to improve; I shall show them to you."

True to his word, when they stopped to allow their horses to rest, Tarkil found himself unable to enjoy the respite that his brethren enjoyed as the Peredhil insisted he practice with them. But even with his exhaustion, he found their instruction useful and saw himself improving. And so must have some of the other rangers who soon approached to ask for help in improving any weaknesses they had in attack and defence. Tarkil had to admit during the battles on the Pelennor and the Morannon that the extra practice had come in useful more than once, the tips they had offered proved to save his life.

Tarkil looked once more at the sword he had just received, still amazed at the quality of the work when Elladan and Elrohir entered the quarters.

"Our young friend here is in awe of the sword you chose, my lords." Herudil grinned wryly.

"If we were full-elves we would declare you elf-friend, but unfortunately, you must settle for simply being our friend." Elladan smiled. "If ever you have need of us, we shall be there for your assistance. Indeed that is true of any of the Grey Company."

"Now, get changed. The rest of the group wish to buy you an ale or two," Herudil said as he stood.

The feeling of shock gradually wore off. Tarkil changed and accompanied the commander and the Peredhil across the Citadel towards the tunnel to the lower levels.

"There you are, Herudil. I am glad you found him." Prince Imrahil, obviously irate, stalked towards them. "I will have you apologize to my daughter, soldier. Your remark to her the other night was completely inappropriate." The Knight drew himself up to his full height and stared at Tarkil, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

The intensity of his gaze surprised Tarkil who felt that it might have been Elladan or Elrohir staring at him.

Herudil cleared his throat. "My lord Imrahil, this is not the man you seek."

Imrahil did not blink nor remove his gaze from the Ranger as he replied, "I do not know what game you play, Herudil, but my daughter's chaperone pointed him out. This is indeed he."

"No, my lord, it is not. I understand your confusion, but this is his younger brother. Many people tend to mix them up, though if you see them together you shall see the difference." Seeing the knight raise an eyebrow in question, Herudil sighed and turned to Elladan. "My lord, could you seek out Haldon and send him up here immediately."

Tarkil and Herudil waited upon the green sward while Imrahil paced in irritation until Elladan and Haldon returned. Haldon bore no sign of his bright grin, Tarkil noted.

"My lord." Haldon bowed before the Prince, his manners and tone impeccably polite.

Imrahil's eyes darted between the two brothers and snorted, then snarled at Haldon. "My daughter's chaperone reported that during the time you spent with my daughter at the ball two nights ago, you made a crude remark to my daughter."

Haldon looked confused for a moment. "I most humbly apologize if there was any misunderstanding, my lord. I was most careful in my speech with your daughter. I did not proposition her or use any foul language. "

"I am referring to that obscene riddle you told her. While you may use uncouth talk to your women in the wilds of the north, such behaviour is not tolerated here in the civilized circles of Gondor."

Herudil arched an eyebrow, his tone cold as he faced the Prince. "My lord, may I inform you that you address the king's kin. And while we may not have stone cities such as those here in Gondor, you will find that we are not uncivilized in the north. The culture of the Dúnedain thrives amongst our people."

Elrohir whispered to Tarkil, "perhaps you should leave now, we will join you later. It is likely this will take a while to smooth things out here as these men strut and posture."

Tarkil walked to the first level to join the others at the tavern. He hesitated when he saw Borgil, pipe in hand, standing at the entrance.

"Borgil," Tarkil said stiffly. Even though they had fought for the past months side by side and each had fiercely protected each other's lives, Tarkil still felt tense around the older man.

Borgil regarded him for a few moments, an unreadable expression upon his face. "Do you have a few moments before you go in?"

Tarkil followed Borgil along the street, wondering what more could possibly be said between them.

Borgil turned down a small alleyway and gestured to a bench before he broke the silence between them. "Would you sit?" He waited for Tarkil to seat himself then started pacing before finally stopping to face him. Borgil took a breath, releasing it heavily before speaking again. "I owe you an apology. Several actually. First for the way I baited you last fall about your brother."

Tarkil nodded, remembering the weeks following his brother's death, listening to Borgil's taunts about Valandur's cowardice in fleeing Sarn Ford. "I am afraid I did not handle it well myself."

"Perhaps not, but I am not sure I would have reacted any differently. When we returned from Tharbad, I … met a ranger who managed to flee into the wilds and escape the Nazgûl." He paused as he glanced over at two soldiers who hurried towards the circle's gate. "He told me he and your brother had been ordered to take a message to Aragorn -- to warn our people of the attack and get reinforcements. He said a Nazgûl pursued them and nearly caught them but Valandur drew the wraith away by himself which allowed this other man to escape unscathed."

The younger ranger briefly closed his eyes and nodded his head. "Thank you for telling me that. When Angrim and you … when he was found where he was, it was hard to understand why he would be so far from his post. Who was the ranger? I would like to meet him and talk to him about it; I would like to know about my brother's last days."

Borgil hesitated for a few seconds, "His name is Forodir. He is my only son."

"Your son was at Sarn Ford?" Tarkil met Borgil's gaze. "But you did not meet him until _after_ that mission to Tharbad? So you thought he was dead, too."

Borgil nodded, "That is why I was so angry during that trip. I went looking but I never found my son's body. I could only assume it had been washed downstream or the Nine had done something evil to his remains." He leaned against the stone wall, looking away as he quietly spoke. "So when we found your brother's body and I saw him get the burial denied my son …"

"You thought my brother abandoned his post and left your son to die at the hands of the Nazgûl," Tarkil finished. "Why did you not tell me?"

"I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew." Borgil shook his head. "But when I returned from Tharbad, I found Forodir had returned home safely. Shortly after that, word came that they needed men to help Aragorn fight in the south, and I volunteered. When I saw you and Haldon join the group – I knew my son survived because of your brother, but I did not know what to say to you in recompense for my accusations last fall."

"You act as though you feel guilty because your son _lived_." Tarkil frowned. "I do not believe he could have done anything to have saved Val. Had he stayed you _would _have lost your son to them."

"You are a better man than I, Tarkil. I certainly did not react as graciously when I thought my son had died, but you do not understand. Your brother sacrificed himself for my son – and here you and Haldon were heading south with us to what I felt was going to be a certain death. I did not expect _any _of us to return, Tarkil." Borgil rubbed his hands across his face. "Those arguments I had with Halbarad when you first joined us, I hoped to convince Halbarad to force you to return home so I did not have to watch either of you die. I did not wish your family to go through the pain that I did when I thought my son had died."

"So that is why you kept arguing with Halbarad about having me sent back north." Tarkil finally grasped what it was Borgil told him and a weight lifted from his shoulders. "When you said I was too young and inexperienced, I thought you felt me unworthy to fight with you; I thought you believed I would be a coward – like you had called my brother last fall."

"I am sorry about that. And I apologize for my arguments with Halbarad against you. You handle your blade with skill. You are equal to any of us, Tarkil. I hope you can accept my apology."

The younger ranger gave a small nod of his head in thanks. "I am proud to stand beside you here today and call you my friend." He held out his hand as Borgil reached out and grasped it firmly.

"Thank you, my friend. I will fight at your side anytime. Now we should join the others. So what was happening that delayed Herudil?"

Tarkil snorted as he told of Prince Imrahil's ire at his brother and soon the two men were laughing as they walked into the tavern.

The watch on the citadel changed before Herudil stomped through the door, Haldon trailing behind. He grinned wryly when he saw Tarkil and Gethron shift over on the bench, making room for him to join them. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Haldon told the tale of how he had been taken to the Prince's quarters and made to apologize to the lady Lothiriel.

"I cannot believe you propositioned Prince Imrahil's daughter so boldly! I thought you would have had the good grace to control yourself in such company." Tarkil scowled at Haldon.

"I did NOT proposition Lothiriel. I simply told her a riddle and one she found amusing, I might add. It was that old biddy who interpreted it so rudely and told Prince Imrahil I insulted his daughter, not Lothiriel. I cannot help it if their minds are perverse," Haldon protested.

"Just what was you said to her?" Meglin asked. "What was this riddle?"

"It is the one you told me the other day, 'Kil, so really you should have been there to apologize, too." Haldon slapped Tarkil on the shoulder as his brother groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"That riddle is fine for the taverns or mess halls of soldiers, but not fit for a chaste maiden," Tarkil chastised his brother.

"She laughed at it; she is not one of these fussy refined court ladies. Lothiriel was raised amongst horses and soldiers and appreciated the joke. She did not seem at all offended by it, and she told a few jokes of her own before that were even bawdier, ones that even the Rohirrim would have appreciated. That is why I felt it safe to tell her that one. I did not realize she would tell it to that old biddy who accompanied her. Anyway, that is not why we are here tonight." Haldon stood up, a tankard of ale raised high. "Gentlemen, tonight we toast my little brother, who finally managed to get off his back and onto his feet after taking a nap at the Morannon. Today the king honoured him by giving him a new sword. May he have the strength to thrust his blade deep!" Laughter and snickers rippled through the group as they toasted to Tarkil.

The toasts continued, glasses drunk and refreshed, until the barkeep called for the last round.

* * *

**Notes:**

Aranaur King's Flame

Arathand King's Shield

Tarkil's oath of Fealty: I know this is different from the words Tolkien had Pippin speak to Denethor. I think the oaths may have started out similar but after thousands of years of separation, I think they may have evolved.

Aragorn's response: I deliberately changed the response changing 'oath-breaking with vengeance' to 'oath-breaking with banishment.' I do not see Aragorn swearing vengeance upon someone the way Denethor would.

The story of the tensions between Borgil and Tarkil is found in 'Promises to Keep', also on this site.


	8. Heading Home

**Heading Home**

Herudil stood at the end of the table as the Dúnedain gathered for their midday meal. After the standing silence, he remained on his feet as the rest sat. "After the meal, I want those of you with horses to take them to the fields to exercise them in preparation for riding out tomorrow. Those of you without horses are to gather by the main gates on the fields." He sat down and started eating, refusing to answer any questions.

"I hope they do not put us in a cart tomorrow and make us ride home that way," Meglin mumbled. "The Rohirrim will never let us hear the end of it."

"We shall find out soon enough," Vardamir said. "I do not care how we get home, just that we get home. My father refused to leave his home despite Elrond's offer of sanctuary. And quite frankly, I miss my wife."

Tarkil exchanged a look with Haldon. Their eldest brother, Mallor, had sent his family to Rivendell but stayed to help guard the village. His fate had been on both their minds much of late, almost as much as the worries of the safety of Poppi's family had been nagging at Tarkil.

All the Dúnedain had been anxious to leave the city behind for the freedom of the moors and forests of home. A collective sigh of relief had been felt more than heard when the word went out that the Rohirrim had been seen approaching Minas Tirith early that morning.

They hurried through their meal and those that had horses headed for the stables on the lower level while those without walked as a group through the circles to the main gate and onto the fields. Soon the rest of the Dúnedain rode out and formed into a loose formation as they trotted across the fields. Tarkil, Vardamir and Meglin stood together watching as Angrim rode his stallion beside Elrohir. They all grimaced to see the older Ranger slide off his mount at one turn.

"He is demanding too much from himself," Vardamir said, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry across the plain. "He just lost half a leg and yet he expects to get back up on his horse and ride with no problems?"

"Keep your knee pressed into the horse a little more than you would normally until you find your balance." Elrohir cinched the stirrup up to the right height once Angrim hauled himself back up on his horse.

"I think he has been doing very well. The horse seems to have figured out his commands though his touch is different. Pretty intuitive steed he has there." Tarkil watched Angrim urge Maethor into a trot then a canter. "He still has a good seat; he just took that last turn too fast. I would wager he will be sore from that tumble though."

"Same as you?" Vardamir chided. "I remember when your brother finally let you ride his horse, you were stiff the next day from what I remember."

Tarkil snorted, "that was from lack of exercise, Vardamir, not a fall. I do not know if Haldon was protecting me or Feinnail. The healers said I could start riding a week before he finally allowed me to ride his horse."

"Do not be too hard on him, Tarkil." Meglin watched Angrim turn his horse in tight circles. "He thought he had lost you at the Black Gates. He would not leave your side and drove the healers mad with his demands."

The Dúnedain watched as fifteen of the Rohan éored followed King Éomer from the Rohirrim encampment. Their interest peaked when they saw each of the Riders lead a spare horse; the Dúnedain on horseback reined in their horses as they watched. They had trouble restraining their curiosity when Aragorn rode out from the gates to join the Rohirrim.

"Gentlemen!" Elessar dismounted in front of them and handed the reins to an equerry. Éomer jumped off Firefoot and stood beside him. "We leave for Rohan tomorrow and from there you shall accompany Mithrandir and Elrond on to Rivendell. Since you lost your mounts in the battles, King Éomer has graciously provided replacements."

Aragorn took a step back as Éomer strode forward. "In honour of your courage in battle, for volunteering to fight for the freedom of not only Gondor but Rohan, I present you with these fine mares from the plains of Rohan so you may journey to your homes safely." King Éomer made a small gesture; the first Rider dismounted and led a chestnut mare to his king.

"Gethron, old friend, come forward," Elessar called as Éomer took the reins of the horse.

The king of Rohan presented the mare to Gethron saying, "This is Eobrynne. May she serve you well and provide you with many foals."

Tarkil watched as Gethron bowed to both kings and took the reins of the horse. One after another, those Dúnedain of the North who had lost their mounts in battle were presented with mares of the Riddermark. Tarkil watched in surprise as Jorund led a horse to Éomer and grinned at the ranger once he handed the reins to his king. Tarkil heard his name called.

"This is Leofwine. May she serve you well and help you keep all evil from your land." Tarkil bowed to Éomer and Elessar and took the reins to the tall bay mare, now his, to stand beside the others. He spoke to her softly, allowing her to sniff his hands then reached up to scratch her neck as she sniffed his. Astounded at the detailed leatherwork on her bridle and saddle, Tarkil lengthened the stirrups to the proper length; he saw Éomer keep a watchful eye on them before he mounted his own steed once again.

Tarkil gave a tight grin to Gethron when Eobrynne tossed her head, hearing a slight murmur of reprimand from the old ranger.

"I doubt she understands Sindarin curses, old friend." Tarkil grinned. "I think you will need to learn some Rohirric. Perhaps Jorund can teach you a few."

Éomer's horse danced beneath him as he waited impatiently for the last of the rangers to mount and join their brethren.

"Now, my friends, I would ensure you can ride these horses as well as their trainers." Éomer smiled broadly in challenge. "Eorlingas, let us show these men of the North how a true horseman rides!"

Gethron grinned at Tarkil as Éomer released his reins to allow his stallion to charge across the fields. "True horsemen, indeed!" called Gethron. "Let us show these Rohirrim a thing or two about the skills of the Dúnedain of the North."

Tarkil laughed as he watched the Rohan king and his men race away, feeling the mare straining to join them instead of the slower pace her rider demanded. "Easy now, Leofwine, we must get used to each other first. I shall not have you throw me in front of your King. Or mine!" Pleased with her obedience, he allowed her to canter before he released her to charge after the others, thrilled with the feel of the wind as it tugged at his hair, finally free from the stone barriers of the city

o-o

That night, after a feast in Merethrond, Tarkil found himself sitting on a bench in the crowded tavern on the first level of the city, surrounded by the green and white uniforms of the Rohan soldiers, a tankard of ale pressed into his hand.

"I take it the Rohirrim found you to be worthy of their horses." Haldon grinned as he hoisted his brew. "By the way, 'Kil, I expect a foal from Leofwine. She is a beauty."

Jorund wedged himself between Tarkil and Haldon. "I heard that your brother had to apologize to the Prince of Dol Amroth but he will not tell us this riddle that caused the affront. He claims your captain forbids him to repeat it and told me I should ask you since you are the one who told it to him. So, my friend, I must insist that you tell us." Jorund pounded his fist into Tarkil's arm in punctuation to his words.

Gethron grinned. " Go on, Tarkil. Tell it. It is all men here, and you cannot get in trouble for telling it in a tavern."

"It is a silly riddle I heard when I was a lad. When we were in the mess hall the evening before Aragorn's wedding, I happened to remember it. I cannot believe that it has taken on such proportions." Tarkil glared at Haldon over Jorund's shoulder.

"Tell it already!" the soldiers at the table shouted.

With a sigh, he relented. "What grows erect in a bed, is hairy underneath, and causes women to weep?"

"Everyone knows that one." Tarkil cringed to hear everyone groan and yell, "tell us a better one!"

"I do not know many others," Tarkil protested. "I generally leave it to my brother to tell the jokes."

"We could teach you some better jokes. One's that would be much more likely to get you in worse trouble if that type of joke offends the noblemen's daughters." Jorund pounded Tarkil on the arm and signalled to the barmaid for a fresh tankard. "So you like my horse, do you, my friend?

"I had wondered about that when I saw you lead her to King Éomer. I am surprised you could afford to give such valuable mares away. You lost so many of your own horses." Tarkil rubbed his arm, certain he would discover bruises the next morn in the shape of Jorund's hammering fist.

"I will take her back if you do not like her. Certainly we would have more use for her than you would." Jorund said with a broad grin. He grabbed a tankard from the barmaid and drained it before slamming it upon the table, and signalled for another to be brought.

Tarkil shook his head and grinned. "No, Jorund, you cannot take such a gift back once it is given. We will put the mares to good use in the North."

"That is if they are found to be willing brood mares. I have heard your mares are wild, and unwilling to stand to be serviced." Gethron said with a grin. Tarkil stared at him, amazed at his friend's audacity. "That is probably why they gave us these mares, Tarkil lad. They are probably beasts unworthy to be bred."

In the midst of taking another swig of his latest tankard, Jorund choked at Gethron's implication and beer spewed across the table. He glared at the older ranger as he wiped his sleeve across his ale-soaked beard. Tarkil relaxed to see him smile, his white teeth shining in the gloom of the tavern. "If they do not breed it will be because your stallions are unable to satisfy her in the manner in which Rohan mares require, my friend. Your stallions are too soft and their equipment too small to properly service our mares. But I hear that is a common complaint uttered by all the females in your land."

A roar of laughter went up as the Rohirrim overheard their comrade's comment.

"At least our women do not look like our horses!" Vardamir roared back.

"Their women _have_ to look like their horses, 'Mir!" Gethron said with a grin. "How else can they entice their men away from their mounts!"

"We have never seen a woman of the North, perhaps you have no need of them!" Jorund retorted.

"Well, what do you get when you mix a dwarf with a warg then, Jorund?" Haldon fired back.

"I….I cannot imagine" Jorund slowly replied.

"Your mother calls him 'son!'" Haldon said with a wide grin.

The rest of the evening passed quickly as the two companies easily traded barbs and insults. Tarkil sipped the strong brew, attempting to make it last the night, knowing he did not wish to ride the next day with a heavy head and a rolling stomach.

The evening wound down and Herudil reminded them of the long journey ahead so the rangers straggled back to their quarters. The two brothers slowly wandered up through the circles discussing all they had seen in Gondor but they both agreed that they were definitely ready to return to the north.

o-o

Tarkil saddled his horse, as the travellers prepared to leave Edoras. "So you will not accompany us any further?" he asked Jorund.

"No, I am to be part of the escort that accompanies Elessar to the borders of Gondor once your king returns." Jorund looked around the stables before quietly asking, "So what _does_ grow erect in a bed, is hairy underneath and makes women weep? Since everyone else in the tavern seemed to know, I did not want to admit I did not know the answer and I have not had a chance to speak with you alone since."

Tarkil chuckled at the Rohir's confession. "An onion."

Jorund shouted in laughter. "Ah, my friend, we definitely need to teach you some better jokes if we are to make you into a Rohir! If you are ever near the Westfold, do not hesitate to stop by, you are always welcome in my home." The Rohir slapped Tarkil on the back and stood back against the paddock fence watching as the Dúnedain prepared to leave Edoras.

"Ready to go home, 'Kil?" Haldon lifted himself into Feinnail's saddle.

"I was ready months ago, Hal. I think we all were," Tarkil replied, seeing the others nod their heads in agreement. He put his foot in the stirrups, preparing to swing into his saddle then cursed under his breath when he felt a familiar tightening across his back. On the ride from Gondor, his back had seized and he had spent the night flat on the ground in pain. Elrond had been summoned and attended the ranger so he could ride the next day and each day since he had been required to present himself to the healer who continued his treatments. But Tarkil had overheard Herudil say that if there were any more incidents, he would have to order the ranger to return to the Houses of Healing in Gondor.

Haldon looked around and moved his horse to block the sight of his brother from the others. In a muted tone, he said, "You are in pain again. Can you ride today?"

"I have to, Hal. I will not be left behind the way Herudil threatened last time." Tarkil breathed deeply a few times, willing the spasm in his back to lessen. "I just hope he does not notice me."

Haldon handed him a small waterskin. "I thought you were stiff in your movements this morning when you got up so I made some willow bark tea just in case."

Surprised at his brother's forethought, Tarkil thanked him and swigged some of the now cool brew. "I hope it works. I do not know what will happen if Heru—"

He choked when Haldon interrupted him to loudly say, "If Lady Eowyn had not already agreed to marry Faramir, I might have had a go at her myself. I imagine a fine horsewoman such as herself would appreciate riding a good stallion."

"Haldon, that remark is inappropriate, especially for a guest in this land," Herudil growled from behind them. "You have double watch for a week."

"Yes, sir. I apologize." Haldon nodded and watched the commander move away from his brother.

Tarkil shook his head and sighed. "Thanks, Hal – I did not see him approaching. I am sorry you got in trouble … but that remark? Would there not have been an easier way of distracting him?" He took a deep breath and hauled himself onto his horse and tried to suppress a wince as pain rippled through his shoulders and back.

"Perhaps but I could not think of one that quickly. No matter, little brother. It is just an extra watch." Haldon shrugged and looked up the hill to Meduseld. "Look up there, 'Kil. Glorfindel is talking with Lady Éowyn. I wonder if she knows he made that prediction about her killing the Witch King."

"I wonder if he knew it would be _her_ or just that it would not be a man who managed to defeat him?" Tarkil watched as Glorfindel bowed to the White Lady. "I doubt we shall ever see such a sight as this again – elves and dwarves and men mingling like this. Do you think we shall see such a difference back home? Will we be needed now that Sauron has fallen?" Tarkil wondered what he would do if his skills were no longer needed, dreading the possibility of having to stop patrolling. _Could he stand to be a farmer as Poppi's father had suggested?_

"Sauron may have fallen, but there will still be orcs, and you saw at Poppi's farm that they are not the only threat to the land." Haldon clapped a hand on Tarkil's back and then grimaced when he saw his brother wince. "Sorry, I forgot you were sore. I hope that did not make things worse for you."

The two brothers joined the rest of the Dúnedain as they flanked the hobbits for the journey to Helms Deep.

o-o

Tarkil fought his mare as she nickered to Feinnail. "Haldon! Keep that beast away from Leofwine! I swear he would try to mount her even with me in the saddle."

"She is in heat, 'Kil, and Feinnail is a stallion. What do you expect?" Haldon guided his steed to a safer distance as they rode through the orchards as they approached Orthanc. He nodded towards the elven rider ahead of them and whispered, "I wonder if he puts those bells on his horse even in battle?"

Tarkil shook his head and whispered in reply, "I was wondering the same thing the other day at Helms Deep when I watched him putting Asfaloth's tack on."

"Perhaps they are a good-luck charm." Meglin brought his mare up between them to join in the quiet conversation. "Think of all the battles he has been in over the thousands of years. Maybe there is some Elvish charm upon them to ward off his enemies."

"Nay, they have no Elvish charm other than the charm of their music," Glorfindel slowed his horse and smiled at their embarrassed looks. "And to answer your question, child, no, I do not put them on Asfaloth when I am in battle. But I do enjoy their harmony on glorious days such as this."

He rode amongst them, singing a soft elven tune that brought images of a great city filled with light to Tarkil's mind. When they reached two tall trees at the edge of the circle, the travellers stopped to wait, looking towards the shimmering lake that encircled the great tower of Orthanc.

Tarkil dismounted and led Leofwine away from the stallions to stand near Gethron and Meglin with their mares. "It is different than when last we saw it from afar – remember the clouds of steam over this land?"

Meglin nodded. "I heard the hobbits talking about the destruction we saw but how was it repaired so quickly?" His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "WHAT are THOSE? They look like trees! But they are walking!"

Tarkil watched in amazement. "And talking! Did that one just bow?"

"That is Fangorn for whom the forest is named, or Treebeard as the hobbits refer to him." Glorfindel approached, smiling as he watched their awed expressions. "Once they roamed this land freely and I had many long conversations with them. Over time, they became mere tales to amuse children such as yourselves." His eyes got a far-away look in them, Tarkil thought.

"I heard Pippin talking of the Ents earlier though I was not sure if I believed him," Gethron said quietly. "But now to see not just one Ent, but two!" They stood watching the conversation between the wizard, the elves and their King. The Ent bowed three times to the Lord and Lady as Legolas leapt onto his horse, and Gimli clambered on behind.

Glorfindel gave a bow as Legolas and Gimli rode past them; the dwarf scowled while the Mirkwood elf laughed at a comment Gimli had grumbled.

"Where are they going?" Meglin wondered.

"I would imagine they are heading to their homes. Young Legolas told me earlier that he wished to wander the great forest, and apparently the Gimli agreed to accompany him. It will be quicker for them to return that way rather than heading along the west side of the mountains as we shall." Glorfindel watched them ride away, continuing to stare into the distance long after Tarkil lost sight of them.

"Tarkil, if Poppi does not believe in elves, do you think she will ever believe you about walking-and-talking trees?" Gethron asked with a grin.

Tarkil shook his head in amusement. "Not a chance!"

"Who is this Poppi who does not believe in elves?" Glorfindel raised an amused eyebrow at them.

"A girl I have been courting, my lord Glorfindel. I am hoping to marry her when I return," Tarkil explained. "She has never met an elf."

"But elves go through Bree quite often. Gildor and his people regularly travel through there between Imladris and the Havens."

"Yes, that is true, my lord, but somehow she has never seen one. Whenever I mention anything about elves, she thinks I am teasing her. One of these days, I shall manage to convince her." Tarkil shrugged. "Perhaps you could visit her if you travel through Bree?"

"Looks like we are leaving, lads." Gethron mounted his horse as Tarkil and Meglin did the same.

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow and smiled. "Perhaps you should bring her to Imladris or the Havens." The elven warrior nimbly leapt on his horse and led them away with the rest.

"I may do that, my lord." Tarkil grinned to himself as he clucked to Leofwine to follow.

Tarkil glanced at Haldon and, remembering their previous conversation, ventured to ask, "my lord, when you made the prediction about the Witch King … did you know it would be Lady Éowyn who killed him? Or did you simply know it would not be a man?"

"I said he would not fall by the hand of man. Lady Éowyn is not a man. Does that not tell you what I saw?" Glorfindel nodded to the rangers as he spurred his horse back amongst his people.

"No, my lord, it does not," Tarkil muttered to himself. "Why is it you can never get a straight yes or no answer out of an elf."

They rode at a much faster pace for the rest of the day until they reached the Gap of Rohan. The Dúnedain came to attention in their saddles when the king approached their group.

"I take my leave of you here. I had hoped that when I finally reclaimed the crown I could leave the North in Halbarad's worthy hands. Would that I could see him amongst you all so I could proclaim him my Regent." Aragorn paused as they all nodded. "I have decided to appoint Halbarad's eldest son, Galathor, Regent so if there are any problems in the land, the village chieftains now have a representative of the crown to turn to. The North has run itself for centuries without a King, I doubt I shall need to interfere in its business.

"I have decided the area is too large for one person to manage on their own so I have given orders for Herudil, Anardil and Ciridon to be made captains. They shall reorganise your posts as they feel is needed." Aragorn looked at each one of them. "I am proud of you all. Never shall I let my people in the south forget how you left your homes for all this time and put your lives in peril to help me reclaim the throne. They shall remember your feats on the Pelennor and how the great Dúnedain of the North stood at the front of the ranks against the hordes at the Morannon. Gentlemen, you have the eternal gratitude of your King."

Herudil ordered the rangers to form a protective circle around the hobbits. They finally led the group off, leaving Aragorn and his guards silhouetted against the sunset. Tarkil saw the hobbits glance back at the dwindling figures behind them and wondered at the flare of green that reflected in their eyes.

o-o

After what seemed to the rangers to be an interminable stop near Tharbad, they finally mounted their horses and headed north once again. Even the Dúnedain horses sensed they neared the end of their journey as they approached Rivendell. They crossed the bridge and saw all the lamps lit in welcome, and joyful songs rose around them as elves and those who sought sanctuary flooded from Elrond's home and the buildings nearby to greet them.

Tarkil and Haldon watched as Meglin grabbed his wife and daughter into his arms, laughing in joy after being separated for so many long months. All around them, other rangers also greeted their kin in ecstatic celebration. Tarkil saw Angrim's wife, Ithilwen, run towards the old ranger; the warm smile on her face quickly changed to shock when she saw him grab his crutches and balance them as he swung off his horse. She flung herself into his arms, almost knocking him off balance. Borgil and Vardamir were quickly engulfed by their families, even Gethron hugged a woman and a youthful boy, Tarkil noticed.

The two brothers swung themselves from their horses, Haldon grabbed Meglin's mount for him, and led them to the stables. "Did Mallor not bring Bregwyn and the children to Rivendell, too? I wonder where they are?" Tarkil wondered aloud.

"Some of the families have returned to their homes already. Once the war finished, they wished to plant their crops and ensure their houses were safe." An elf informed them as he took their horses from them. "We shall look after your horses for you, do not worry."

Haldon walked over to Meglin, greeting his friend's family. Tarkil smiled when he saw Meglin's daughter, Meril, throw her arms about Haldon's neck in greeting and Meglin tried unsuccessfully to suppress a scowl.

Herudil lead his horse into the stables, handing it off to another elf, and addressed the Dúnedain who gathered nearby. "Elrond has arranged rooms for us tonight and dinner shall be served after we have had a chance to wash up. He has said we are welcome to stay as long as we wish, but I imagine those of us whose families did not come to Rivendell will want to leave first thing in the morning." He looked around to see heads nodding in agreement. "Those of you who wish to ride out with me, meet me here after we break the night's fast. We can ride out together."

"Tarkil, I would like you to meet my daughter, Elrin, and my grandson, Halboron." Gethron proudly introduced his kin once Herudil had finished.

Tarkil bowed over Elrin's hand and greeted Gethron's grandson with a smile. Elrin had Gethron's straight dark hair and grey eyes, Tarkil noted, but she was shorter than the average Dúnedain woman, and though he knew she could only be his age, already she bore the ravages of time as strands of grey threaded her hair. He briefly wondered if he was seeing what his and Poppi's children might look like. Elrin must have married a Dúnedain, Tarkil surmised, for the boy bore little trace of his Fornost ancestry. Gethron told Tarkil he planned on relaxing in Rivendell for a few weeks before they journeyed back to their home near Fornost. Tarkil excused himself when he saw Elladan gesture to him from the steps of his father's house.

"Tarkil," Elladan said once the ranger neared. "I thought you would like to know I spoke with one of Gildor's messengers about that proposal you asked be sent to the woman in Southlinch. They assure me that they did take it to her house, but they did not see the woman herself. Apparently they left it with a man named Henry Rushlight. I hope that was sufficient."

"Yes, my lord. Henry is her father. I am sure that it reached her then." The ranger nodded his thanks. "But how did you know that note asked her to marry me. Did you read it after I had handed it to you?"

Elladan smiled. "Do you think, child, that after 2800 years I have not developed the ability to read writing from the opposite side of a table? I read it as you wrote."

"Our tutor often used to hand us notes to take to our father but he would seal them so we could not peek." Elrohir admitted with a wry grin at his twin. "It became a useful skill to know what to expect once the note was delivered. He did not spy, my friend, it is simply an old habit."

Haldon wandered over to join them and the Peredhil led the brothers to a room in the last homely house where they found soft beds and a bath filled with warm water awaiting them, even clean tunics had been set out for them to wear that evening. The two brothers bathed and dressed, finishing just as a peal of bells called out over the valley informing all that dinner awaited.

They arrived in the hall to find a feast set out, the Dúnedain and their families rejoiced as the worries of the past year slid from their shoulders. Tarkil lifted his glass of wine and paused, thinking of all that had been sacrificed for just such an end, wondering what would come in the days ahead. For half an age, their people had fought to protect the land. For half an age, they struggled to see their king crowned once again and rule their land in his true name. And now, in their lifetimes, they saw their ancestors' dreams come true. He noticed that many of the Dúnedain around him also bore a pensive look on their face. Without saying a word, as they glanced at each other, they could tell that each contemplated the same thoughts. With the dark lord finally defeated, they stood on the threshold of a new age.


End file.
